Red Stains
by Alamo Girl
Summary: The 7 Deadly Sins are said to be a plague on the human soul. For Jane and Lisbon, this may be the literal truth. UPDATED: LUST
1. Before the Fall

**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing and claim no rights to use. I do hope Bruno Heller decides not to sue, because all he'd get would be a mortgage, a husband, a baby boy, and two cats. Be forewarned, oh Primerose Hill Productions gods... the black wookie cat steals sports watches.

**A/N**: This first chapter was written for Yuletide 2009, but the 7 Deadly Sins challenge comes from the _Fantasy Script _board. I originally wanted to wait to post until I had a few more sins 'in the can' - so to speak. But procrastination is my middle name. So here it is, my first _Mentalist _attempt. Please let me know how I did, concrit is greatly appreciated! Shout-outs to betas **Chichuri **and **Celia Stanton**. Also to fellow _Mentalist _fan buds **Hardly Loquacious** and **SpaceAnJL** for the insanely entertaining emails breaking down all things Mentalist-y.

**Before the Fall**

**(Pride)  
**

_"Of all the causes which conspire to blind, Man's erring judgment and misguide the mind; What the weak head with strongest bias rules, is **pride**, the never-failing vice of fools." Alexander Pope_

Judge Burton stood atop the dais, his voice booming out over the speaker as he addressed the crowd at the banquet that was meant to boost his cash coffers and his voting numbers. His basso voice accentuated his authority just as his flashy smile and thousand-dollar suits played up his charm. Burton waved his hand outward, an all-encompassing gesture meant to make the listeners feel like he was welcoming them to his point of view. Vote for him for state supreme court and law would be upheld, order restored and the streets would be safe again. Should've had a broom in one hand as a prop.

Patrick Jane wanted to gag. Actually, he wanted to lay the good judge open to the crowd of grinning sheep and reveal the wolf they were ready to plunk their money down behind. Maybe throw in a right jab to the nose, just for good measure. But Jane wasn't given to physical brutishness. Fact was, he was usually on the receiving end of it more often than not.

Jane wasn't fond of authority; even less when it was wrapped up in pompous blowhards who thought they were above the law. Especially pompous blowhards who seduced young, impressionable girls, who happen to be their step-daughters. Then said step-daughter ends up dead in a back alley of supposed drug overdose. Of course, Jane saw the staged crime scene for what it was – Burton's daughter was no more a drug head than he was. The judge also had quite the reputation as a lady's man with the young aides and clerks that flitted through his offices. So, when the little drips and drabs of information kept pointing back to dear 'ol step-daddy, Jane knew Judge Burton had killed sixteen year old step-daughter Rachel.

The fact that on the past two occasions Jane had tried to question Burton, the judge verbally swatted Jane across the face with his past as a grand charlatan (all politicians being the very definition of term not withstanding), only made Jane itch to see the man taken down. He stood at the back of the auditorium, hands in his pockets to hide the fact that he was fidgeting, slightly bouncing on the balls of his feet. He swiveled his gaze around the room from time to time, always coming back to the judge. With every peal of applause, Jane huffed incredulously.

A petite form at his side shifted her gaze toward him and smirked. "What? He's not winning you over with promises of stricter punishments for criminals and improving the judicial system?"

Jane cocked a brow her way and scoffed. "Hardly. And I've heard better spiels put on by carnival barkers." He motioned to the crowd, "He's following the age-old rule of saying exactly what they want to hear. Everything they _didn't_ hear from the competition, and making sure his body language backs up his statements."

As Agent Lisbon turned back to Burton, Jane leaned in toward her, conspiratorially. "See how he puts his right hand over his heart every time he makes a promissory statement? He's purposely doing that at the right times because it _should_ mean he's telling the truth."

"Maybe he is telling the truth. Besides, I thought you said that most body language indicators were subconscious. Couldn't be faked."

Jane gave a sideways grin. "Oh please, Lisbon. Trust me, he's faking it. Putting on a show. Besides, when's the last time a politician was truthful?"

She agreed with that. Nodding toward the dais she said, "He should be wrapping up his sales pitch soon and then we can find somewhere more private to question him about Rachel."

Jane could tell from her tone that Lisbon wasn't looking forward to dealing with Burton again. The man made no attempts to hide his belittlement of her being a woman on the job – a _very pretty woman_, he'd said (and Jane's teeth ground just remembering the leer behind the words). But even through his sidestepping and his name-dropping of higher-ups in the CBI, Lisbon remained ever the professional. She'd smile in faux deference to his supposed prestige and then turn the conversation back to the matter at hand. Jane inwardly beamed with pride – always able to take care of herself, his Lisbon.

But he'd taken over the questioning when he tired of all the political evading. Jane didn't give a damn who the judge knew or what strings he could get pulled, he knew the man killed his twenty year step-daughter. So, he started poking his stick in Burton's cage to get a reaction – only the reaction wasn't what he'd intended. If there was anything Jane couldn't stand, it was some asshat trying to patronize him.

Lisbon had cut off the pleasantries before Burton could get within swinging distance of Jane. Once they were outside his office she turned on him. "Are you _trying_ to screw up this case?"

Jane put on his best 'innocent-face'. "What? That? Meh – he's all talk. You needn't worry, Lisbon."

"I'm not worried about my job, Jane," she'd ground out, "I'm worried about him getting us kicked off this case. He could do it, you know. Now that he knows we see him as suspect number one, he's going to start flexing his political muscles. And I, for one, don't want to have to go tell Rachel's mother why her daughter's killer got off – because my bull-headed consultant couldn't keep his pride in check!"

Jane's smile-mask fell just a bit. "My pride?"

"Yes. This guy is pushing your buttons, Jane. So scale it back a notch."

Jane sighed and turned back toward the Judge, as the other man was finishing his speech. Pride wasn't influencing him. He was just doing his job – as Lisbon was always nagging him to do – and to do that, he needed to find what ruffled the Judge's feathers to get him to slip up. Make the ego-maniacal sonofabitch say something that would let them rip the rug out from under him. Jane didn't have buttons to push, certainly none that a pompous political pimp like Burton would ever discover.

* * *

Just then, Agent Cho appeared next to Lisbon. "Spoke to Burton's aide, said the judge would meet us in the hallway outside as soon as his speech was over."

"Didn't figure he wanted to be seen by all of his financial backers talking to the CBI in the wake of his step-daughter's murder."

Cho, ever the master of the stone-faced deadpan, looked past Lisbon's head. His frown deepened and he swallowed. For Cho, this was the equivalent of abject horror and Lisbon was suddenly worried.

"Looks like Burton's not going to have a choice about that, boss," Cho offered, nodding toward the dais.

Lisbon whirled around to find her wayward consultant gone. He was strolling merrily up to the judge's podium, just as Burton was acknowledging his applause at the end of his speech.

"Oh shit," she breathed.

* * *

By the time Lisbon caught up with Jane, Burton's face was turning a lovely shade of crimson. She really needed to invest in a leash for him. Maybe a shock collar – every time he did something to embarrass her or generally frustrate the hell out of her, she could give him a shock.

Damn. The batteries would be dead inside a day, she thought.

Burton was flanked by his aides and one hulking gorilla Lisbon figured to be his bodyguard. The guy was carrying. She really didn't want to have to tackle him if he decided to go after Jane.

"My but don't you just have the perfect set up," Jane was saying, his smile predatory and sharp. Lisbon had noticed that Jane's most obvious charm – his smile – had many different shades to it. "You fleece the unsuspecting dolts that you charm with fast talk and empty promises, you're given center stage to feed your ego while you feed your baser desires with young, beautiful clerks in your office. I bet you make the young ones think you're the fatherly benefactor, helping them along in their careers."

Burton's dark eyes bored into Jane; the muscle in the side of his cheek quivering. Jane was taking in the murderous energy and letting it fuel the indignation running his tirade. Lisbon had to stop this.

"Jane!" She took hold of his arm, trying to deflect him from his target. "What are you doing? I told you to tone it down." She should have known better than to think he'd listen.

Burton suddenly smiled a wicked, smug smile. "Pot, kettle, black, Mr. Jane. I looked you up a long time ago. Your so-called 'psychic' business. Hell, some of your TV spots are still online. You should give lessons in how to work a crowd. Milk them for everything they've got."

Lisbon saw Jane's smile fade just a bit. The judge was searching Jane's armor for a weak spot. She wasn't sure nailing him about his former profession was the weak spot, as Lisbon had never been sure if Jane was repentant for his charlatan act. Sure, it had come back to bite him in the ass – blinding him, actually, when the son of one of his "clients" had sought revenge – but even then, he'd never really said he was sorry for taking advantage of so many. And that had always bothered Lisbon a little.

"It amazes me that a man of your…" Burton looked Jane up and down with disgusted smirk, "_character_…was ever hired by the CBI. Needed help so badly they didn't care where they got it, I guess," he added, looking to Lisbon.

Screw Jane, Lisbon was going to punch this guy herself. She plastered a placating smile on her face. "I apologize, Judge Burton. We wanted to keep these proceedings private but–"

"Don't apologize to this waste of space, Lisbon," Jane drawled. "How many of your interns have you slept with, Judge? Or did you just prefer your step-daughter because she was easily accessible?" He projected his voice so that no one within 25 yards would miss hearing him.

Burton's smugness was replaced with rage. "How dare you! Do you know what I could do to your career? Your pretty little boss here wouldn't get a post as a meter-maid!"

Jane stepped directly into the judge's personal space, nose to nose. For a moment, Lisbon thought she was about to see Jane get physically violent for the first time. His smile was stark contrast to the deadly glint in those blue-green eyes.

"Why her, you disgusting letch? How'd you get away with it under you wife's nose? Did you have to get her drunk the first time? Wear her down with alcohol while you told her how pretty she was, how mature she'd become..." He pitched his voice low.

Burton was nearly boiling over. "You're _done_, Mr. Jane. If I have my way, you'll never get within 50 feet CBI property every again!" He was rearing back to swing when aides, bodyguards and Lisbon jumped into action. She stepped between them, pushing the roiling judge away from Jane.

Lisbon pulled Jane back up the aisle, the sounds of the judge's threats echoing behind them. When they emerged from the banquet hall, Rigsby and Van Pelt, who'd been waiting by the door watching the standoff, joined them. Both had semi-shell shocked expressions. They were used to Jane stirring the pot, but they'd never seen him attack someone with so much power so vehemently.

"Well, that went…uh…_well_." Van Pelt shifted uncomfortably.

All three team members stood aside to give their boss room as she rounded on Jane.

"What the hell was that?" Lisbon blurted, stepping up to Jane.

Jane raised his brows, but was otherwise unperturbed. "He's guilty, Lisbon. Simple as that. I wanted to see what he'd do when faced with the harsh truth." His face split into his most charming grin, "Interesting reaction, wasn't it?"

He was trying to win her to his side. Wasn't going to work. "You think this is a game, Jane? We have no evidence to charge him and you go off making accusations in full view of half the judicial establishment in Sacramento…"

He shrugged. "Details. Don't forget, my dear Lisbon, we had even less to go on when we went after that senator for her aide's death. At least this time, we have a body," he offered helpfully.

Lisbon let out a breath through her nose and counted to ten. "He's a judge. He knows the law. He knows exactly what to say and what not to, and he also knows exactly what we have to have in order to be any real threat to him. He's probably burning up the phone lines to Minelli about getting us kicked off this case."

"Or suspended," Cho muttered behind them.

"It's all about finding the right leverage," mused Jane, as he watched the judge and his entourage get into a waiting limo outside. "He thought he could rattle me off course with a few verbal barbs…"

Lisbon caught the change in the tenor of his voice and recognized it for what it was: hubris. Patrick Jane wasn't used to losing. For all his professions that this job wasn't that important to him, Lisbon knew it was all he had. The showman in him bred a fierce competitive streak, and when a suspect was lucky enough to push his buttons, all her warnings fell on deaf ears.

She found herself speaking her thoughts aloud. "Verbal barbs that happened to be true."

That startled his attention back to her. For a moment, Lisbon saw pain flash across Jane's face, then guilt. He looked down, and Lisbon refused to feel like she'd just kicked a puppy. Jane needed to see that Burton wasn't the only one who didn't like looking at the harsh truth.

After a long second, Jane cleared his throat. "There are ways to get the evidence we need, Lisbon. His wife knows what he did. She knew he was abusing her daughter and she did nothing."

"That may be, but spousal privilege stops her from testifying. The Judge knows that."

"Then we make him believe the wife will waive the privilege and testify anyway. Or leak the truth to the papers. Either way, it will force him to make a damning move." Jane said, staring into her eyes. Willing her to go along.

Lisbon started shaking her head, refusing to let him sway her. No small task when faced with an intense, very convincing and nearly-always-right-Patrick Jane. "No. No, Jane. We aren't going there. If ever there were a case that had to be by the book, it's this." She started to walk away, "You made a promise, anyway."

"Promise?" Jane asked, confused.

Lisbon turned around and gave him a weary look. "You promised me you'd do your job without making messes that I'd have to clean up."

Jane let the corner of his mouth turn up wistfully, as if remembering the day he'd nearly been banished from the team. "Trust me, Lisbon."

"Yeah," she muttered, as the team left the building, "that's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

_Two days later..._

"You just had to do it, didn't you? You just had to push the stakes up to see what would happen. Even after I expressly told you," and Minelli looked to Lisbon as he said that; she was supposed to keep Jane's leash taut, "to back off the Judge. He had Senator Huxley call me. You know Senator Huxley, don't you? The guy who makes sure CBI receives its funding every year? Yes, well, let me tell you, I do not like getting irate phone calls from people who see to it that I get my pension."

Jane nonchalantly toyed with Minelli's name plate. "Oh please, Virgil. You'll be able to retire and play golf on some sunny little course in Florida, no worries. Besides, my plan worked like a charm."

He smirked at Lisbon, only to find that she had moved to the other side of Minelli's desk. Her eyes were lowered, but the set of her mouth told Jane exactly what she was feeling. Anger. His cocky grin faded a notch as he watched her, and it occurred to him that she hadn't spoken a word to him since they left the Judge's house.

Minelli leaned forward on his desk. "You hypnotized the wife against her will…"

"She knew what her husband had done. She was just too scared to admit it or too scared of him...or whatever..."

"You made her mention to a reporter that she had evidence against her husband. You made her into bait trying to draw out the judge…"

"So?" Jane shrugged. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lisbon cringing. Suddenly, Minelli's tongue-lashing had lost its amusement.

"So!? The fact that her life was in danger, that a hit man tried to kill her and nearly succeeded, doesn't bother you?" Minelli asked, disgusted. "She got _shot_, Jane."

"She'll live. Which is more than I can say about her daughter." Jane's tone grew cold. "I knew that if I had the wife say that she was going to the police within the day, Burton would panic and make a mistake. The bastard called the hit man from his own cell phone." He tilted his head matter-of-factly, "Besides, we got there in time."

Minelli sighed. "Yeah. Lucky us. An illegal entrapment case if I ever saw one. The Judge could get off, y'know. All because you can't follow the rules, Jane."

Jane was tiring of going around and around in circles. He knew Minelli would slap his wrist, probably make some plead to Lisbon about keeping a tighter reign on him, and then send them out to find more bad guys. He was thinking about the new box of Chinese tea waiting for him in the lounge, when Minelli turned to Lisbon, who had been frighteningly silent. Jane realized she hadn't come to his defense (not that he really expected her to) nor had she apologized for him. In fact, he was starting to worry about his petite partner.

"This is one giant pooch-screw of a case, Lisbon. You know that." Minelli said.

Lisbon nodded minutely. Then, she looked up and Jane's concern kicked up a notch. She'd made her face completely blank, but Jane could see the weariness in her eyes. The anger and disappointment. And he was the cause. Something shifted uncomfortably in his chest.

"I know, sir," she answered. "I continually fail to keep Jane in line, and I take full responsibility for this case getting blown to hell in court."

"I ought to suspend you."

"Wouldn't blame you if you did, boss."

"Uh…time out," Jane interjected, standing up. "Lisbon isn't to blame for this. She knew nothing about it. It was my plan and I did it all without Lisbon being a part of it."

Minelli gave him an ironic smile. "And therein lies the rub, doesn't it Jane? You did this behind Lisbon's back. She's your supervisor. But more than that, she's your _partner_. And you drug her into your little charade by association. Everything you do while under the auspices of the CBI reflects on the CBI, haven't you learned that by now?"

Jane's high from bringing Judge Burton down was crashing fast, and he didn't like the let-down effects. Lisbon was taking the fall for his shenanigans, only this time, things seemed much more serious. Minelli's words about Lisbon being his partner started to sink in, and Jane suddenly felt queasy. When he returned to the office from his little visit with Mrs. Burton, Lisbon had asked him if he'd gone back to bother Burton on his own. He lied – quite brilliantly – to her face. Now, all he wanted to do was to get her to look at him. Say something to him, _anything_. Even if she called him a shifty bastard…

"No," Lisbon said, making Jane startle out of his thoughts, "he hasn't learned that because he doesn't care to learn. I don't think he _cares_ at all."

_Okay_. _Ouch_. Jane swallowed. "You know, it's awfully rude to talk about someone in the third person when that person is standing two feet from you." Tried to catch her eye, but she remained facing Minelli.

Lisbon stood, shoving her hands in her pockets. "You can't trust him, boss." She looked down, muttering, "_I_ can't trust him. Maybe someone else could do better with him."

Something in Jane let out a high-pitched squeal of fear. His stomach dropped to his knees _What?!_ "Uhm…could you not refer to me like a puppy that can't be paper trained? Actually, if you're going to refer to me at all, woman, could you at least…you know…turn and _refer_ to _me_?"

"You'd really transfer, Teresa? Leave your team?" Minelli asked, skeptically.

But Lisbon held a brave, resolved face. "You have to be able to trust your team, sir. _All_ of your team." She shrugged, "I don't know."

Jane's brain kicked into overdrive. Lisbon wasn't going anywhere. Not his Lisbon. Not because of him. "Okay, let's take a minute and cool down, shall we." He leaned in, trying to inject himself between Lisbon and Minelli's desk. "You're not going anywhere, Lisbon," his voice was rough. Turned to Minelli, "And you're not going to transfer your best agent out because some murdering, child abusing judge squealed to his powerful friends when he got caught." Jane hoped he at least sounded surer of himself than he felt. He was a master at reading people, and he knew Minelli was fond of Lisbon. He didn't think Minelli would actually transfer her, but that wasn't what scared the hell out of him.

It was the fact that Lisbon sounded like she'd actually leave. Chuck in the towel on her team…on _him_. No way. He wouldn't let her. For an agonizing moment, Minelli seemed to call his bluff.

But then he sighed and said, "No. I wouldn't. But it's not really up to me." He nodded to Lisbon, who was starting at the corner of the desk like all the answers to the universe were engraved in its stained and scarred surface. "Teresa?"

Jane inched closer to her, trying with all his might to read her. But she'd shut him utterly out.

"I'll get back to you," she said in a hushed voice. Then turned on her heel and walked out.

Jane watched her leave, then turned back to the older man. Shocked by the turn of events, mentally scrambling through ways to fix it, and suddenly feeling very bereft, he swallowed thickly and offered Minelli a weak smile. "Don't worry. She'll be alright."

"Fix this, Jane," Minelli glared. "I don't want to go shopping for a new lead agent of Serious Crimes.

Guiltily, Jane nodded and went after Lisbon, worrying that maybe this time, he didn't know how to fix it.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," said Cho, leaning back in his chair at the conference table. He was flanked by Van Pelt and Rigsby, who'd been called to Jane's "emergency" meeting. "You went out on your own and screwed things up – as usual – but you ended up being right and solving the case – as usual – Lisbon catches hell on your behalf, only this time she won't forgive you."

Something about Cho's monotone recap and the way he seemed to glare without actually moving his eyebrows made Jane want to sink a little further into his chair. Like maybe up to his neck.

Rigsby looked crushed. And pissed. "Yeah. And she might actually ask for a transfer." He fixed Jane with a hard glare. "I don't want to deal with a new boss. I _like_ my boss, Jane."

"She's not going to transfer, guys. C'mon," Jane tried. "Look at all the stunts I've pulled. She weathered them all and she'll weather this one too." Some of certainty in his voice faltered as he looked down at his hands. "She just needs some time to cool off, that's all."

"Why do you do it?" Sweet, idealistic, faithful Grace sounded bitterly accusatory and it made Jane look up quickly. "Why do you always make things difficult for her? Bad enough she has to take responsibility for all of it, but you don't even act like you're sorry for the trouble you cause. She trusted you."

Jane felt the knife twist in his gut at her words.

"As long as you get away with it, you keep doing it," she rebuked, shaking her head.

"Look, contrary to what you all may think, I don't spend my days on that couch thinking up new ways to make Lisbon's life hell," Jane said, feeling like he needed to shift the direction of this little meeting. Fast. Before the guys decided he needed to be burned at the stake or something. "I need your help."

Van Pelt scoffed. "What – if you think we're going to help you by getting Lisbon to forgive you…"

"No, I'm fully capable of getting Lisbon to forgive me on my own." _I hope_. "We need to make sure the Burton case doesn't get thrown out of court on a technicality. We need evidence that he killed his step-daughter."

"There is none. ME said the body was clean of foreign DNA, nothing under the fingernails, no hair samples. Nothing in Burton's car or bedroom that couldn't be explained away," Cho said.

Jane pulled his arms across his chest. "Sixteen year old girls don't keep many secrets to themselves. They vent to friends–"

"All her friends have been questioned," Rigsby interjected. "They said she'd been reserved and withdrawn lately, but didn't tell them about any abuse."

"What about a diary?" Jane asked.

"Who keeps a diary these days? Everything is blogged, web-journals, Facebook…" Cho informed.

The team all looked at each other for a minute, and Cho raised a brow. "Anyone check to see if she blogged?"

Van Pelt was already grabbing her netbook and tapping away. Jane watched as they gathered around her, watching her work her computer magic. If they could find something that helped take the heat off the CBI and put it back where it belonged, on the judge, then he might be able to go to Lisbon with a nicer olive branch. If she'd talk to him. Which she hadn't in over two days.

Van Pelt eventually found an obscure and locked online journal, owned by the judge's late step-daughter. Jane was relieved when Van Pelt said there was an entry the day before the girl was killed. Even better, it was a video entry of Rachel herself, using the computer as the only safe means to talk about the abuse she was suffering at home.

Jane made sure the district attorney had all the pertinent information, before arriving late in the evening at CBI headquarters. He knew Lisbon would be there, working late. She wouldn't have an excuse to avoid him, like she'd been doing for the past couple of days. They would be alone, in her office.

As he rode in the elevator, Jane thought back over all the quiet moments he'd shared with Lisbon in the peace of the empty office. Lisbon's office was, in many ways, her 'safe place'; she'd retreat there when she didn't want the team to know something was bothering her. Jane had always been lucky – or just ballsy – enough to be able to stroll into her sanctum any time he liked. Now, all he could do was pray she hadn't locked the door, and he wasn't just thinking of the one to her office.

* * *

Lisbon paused in her typing to pinch the bridge of her nose. She'd been staring at that screen for what seemed like days. Looking down at the Burton file, she signed her name to the last deposition – the one that outlined her team's discovery of Rachel's online journal entry – and closed the file.

Sometimes, it surprised her how much her team meant to her. Always living up to her "Saint Teresa" nickname, she worried over and protected them like family. It really shouldn't surprise her when they returned the favor. They stuck by her, putting their jobs on the line when she was accused of killing McTeer and continuing to investigate despite being ordered off the case. Now, they found the final nail in Burton's coffin, making conviction likely instead of remote.

They couldn't let well-enough alone. Maybe Jane was rubbing off on them after all. She frowned, her headache choosing that moment to turn up the dial on the throbbing.

Jane. Beautiful, manipulative, irreverent, rule-bending son-of-a-bitch. The man murdered with that smile, and somehow, through everything, she'd forgiven him. Wasn't the first time he'd lied, far from it. Definitely wasn't the fist time she'd caught hell on his behalf. But maybe she was tired of having to apologize for the things he said. Perhaps she was growing weary of having to be at Def Con 3 all the time, waiting for the boom to be lowered when Jane got that "I have a plan" gleam in his eyes.

Maybe she was just all lied out.

He'd made her believe that her trust was important to him, that day he talked her into the trust fall. All the humor vanished, his eyes boring into hers and the soft, sincere tone of his voice as he asked her to understand that he would always be there for her. She shivered at the memory. Having the intensity of Patrick Jane focused wholly on you could be overwhelming, and she wasn't used to him switching from his perpetual nonchalance to a seemingly heartfelt declaration.

Probably hypnotized her or something. The bastard.

Lisbon sighed, frustrated, and turned back to her computer. She felt, more than heard him in her doorway, and irritation made her headache pulse with renewed vigor.

A soft tap on the door frame, but she ignored it, continuing to stare at her computer screen while she closed out of the files she was working on. She could hear him shifting his weight nervously, unsure whether stepping beyond the door will prove hazardous to his health or not. _Good_, she thought. _Let that all consuming self-confidence take a hit or two_.

He cleared his throat. "So," he began, but she could tell by the softness of his tone that he was treating her like a caged animal – soft voices and slow movements. "Burton's lawyers are squealing for a deal after that video of Rachel came out." He inched closer to her desk, "Good news, right?"

Lisbon stood up abruptly, file in hand and turned her back fully to him, pretending to organize the papers within the folder. He was right, as always. It _was_ good news about Burton's case. Jane and the team had found the piece of evidence overlooked and managed to hang the judge with it. She should be celebrating with 'case-closed pizza' and beer with the rest of her team. But the man in the room with her – undoubtedly staring at her back with that concerned puppy-dog look – won't let her be.

"Oh come now, woman." He was changing tack, trying to goad her into responding. "You're really going to give me the silent treatment? Really? Because that's going to be sort of hard, seeing as how we work not twenty feet from each other day in and day out."

Lisbon chewed her lip. Sonofabitch had the nerve to sound glib. She'd tried to impress upon him how much she'd sacrificed to get him out of jail, the bridges she'd had to burn with a friend she'd admired, and he'd given her that cheeky grin, a glib retort and skipped on his merry way. No care at all for how things affect _her_.

Jane had worked his way around the desk, his voice now much closer to her. "This is rather childish, you know," he purred. He pitched his voice low, attempting to get her to move closer, respond in some way. "The silent treatment the past two days... you hinting that you might take a transfer out of the unit? We both know that's just a bluff, my dear Lisbon." She could hear that seductive grin in his voice and it set her teeth on edge. "You'd be utterly bored without me."

The folder slammed down on the cabinet and Lisbon whirled around on her intruder. "Childish?! No, _childish_ is running in half-cocked and doing everything your way despite how it may affect those around you, Jane. _Childish_ is having no regard for the consequences of your actions. _Childish_ is letting your pride get in the way of everything, to hell with who gets in trouble on _your_ behalf!"

She took some pleasure in the way Jane's face fell, abashed. He'd propped himself against her desk, arms confidently crossing his chest, but when she started her barrage, Jane seemed to deflate. He winced at her words, and Lisbon inwardly claimed some victory at being able to elicit an emotional response. Not often did she gain the upper hand with Jane, and if she had to hurt him a little to get him to open his eyes, then so be it. He'd hurt her enough already.

"Look, I'm sorry, Lisbon." He stared at his hands, something he did when trying to deal with his _real_ emotions when his mask slipped off. Lisbon knew she was getting to him, now. "I couldn't let that bastard get away with killing his step-daughter. I regret that you and the CBI took the brunt of the political fallout, but I'd do it again if I had to." He looked up and into her eyes, seriously. "But I'm truly sorry that this hurt us."

_Oh, he's good._ _Too good_. Lisbon wanted to give in – those blue-green eyes, that angelic face full of hope and remorse. But there was a cautionary tale to Patrick Jane, Lisbon knew. He was such an accomplished liar that one rarely knew when to take him at his word. Master manipulator. The King of Cons. Lisbon kept her wall erect.

"Us?"

"You and me," Jane clarified. "I'm sorry that this ordeal…well…put a dent in your trust in me." He gave her a shadow of his normal "trust me and everything will be alright" smile.

Lisbon sighed. He was saying all the right things. If only she could believe he was saying them for the right reasons. "Those are just words, Jane." She moved around him, toward the door.

A hand reached up and grasped her wrist. Lisbon held her breath as she soaked up the warmth of his palm encircling her wrist. She wasn't used to him touching her, as his displays of physical affection were unpredictable. Usually, they were part of a con, a hypnosis session or hand-holding in order to read heart rates. But occasionally, Jane had launched into her arms for a hug, knocking her world askew for a few seconds and warming her in a way she couldn't predict.

When she turned and warily looked at him, she was surprised to find him staring at the floor again. He remained connected to her though, a life line, and Lisbon knew that even though she'd been hurt, he was the the one who was drowning.

"You're not leaving the unit, are you." It wasn't really a question. And Lisbon knew in her heart that a bullet or forced retirement would be the only things that separated her from her team. No surprise Jane knew it too.

"No," she answered.

He looked up then, and Lisbon had to bite back the lump in her throat. "But you don't trust me," he said. The lines around his eyes suddenly looked stark, standing out against his tanned skin and Lisbon thought he'd aged ten years in ten minutes.

She looked down at their joined hands. "Actions and words, Jane. You want me to trust you, but you do things that are untrustworthy."

Jane stood, moving closer to Lisbon. When she tried to reclaim her hand, he squeezed a little harder, holding on. "So, what do I have to do?" His voice was tinged with hope, but he kept eye contact, boring holes in her. His voice was low and calm, and for a moment, Lisbon thought he might be trying to put a spell on her. "I can't guarantee I won't do what I have to in order to solve a case, Lisbon. That's why you hired me. It's why you keep me around – or so you've told Bosco. I close cases." He moved an inch closer. He was almost towering over her now, and Lisbon had to take her eyes of his. His energy was overwhelming her, and if he was putting the whammy on her, she had a sinking suspicion she wasn't going to be able to resist.

"But I need you to trust me, Lisbon. So what's it gonna take?" Jane murmured.

Things were getting too intense. They were very close now, still holding hands. Very intimate and very lucky it was late and the office was abandoned. She needed to break the spell, dissipate the tension…

She swallowed and looked back up at Jane. He was all concern and sincerity and inappropriately beautiful. She smirked, "It'll take a hellova lot more than those stupid paper frogs."

Something in the room broke and the air seemed to rush back in as Jane's face lit up in a dazzling smile. "Aww, I thought you liked those paper frogs?"

"I don't need a drawer full of them jumping out at me." Lisbon noticed that it was with some reluctance that Jane let go of her hand. Their fingers slipped through each other, the warmth whispering through the meeting of skin until they parted.

They both stood for a moment, looking at the space their hands had occupied, perhaps both mourning the moment that had passed. Then Jane reached out and snagged Lisbon's coat, offering it to her. "Better than a drawer full of real ones." And he chuckled at Lisbon's look of horror. Jane would be just the type to raid a high school science lab and free its amphibious prisoners, letting them take up residence in her office desk.

"What about another trust fall?"

"No." Lisbon turned off the office lights at the headed to the elevator.

"But I liked the trust fall," Jane protested, hitting the hall lights as they passed. "Of all the pedantic techniques those leadership retreats offer, that trust fall was actually useful. Didn't you think so?"

"No."

"Well, then, I'll have to think of something else."

"Oh joy. Can't wait."

Jane paused as Lisbon got on the elevator. She expected him to be at her side, and had to hit the 'hold' button when she saw him standing outside the lift doors. He was watching her with a look that could only be described as endearment. After a moment, Lisbon became a little uneasy. "What?"

"We'll be okay," Jane stated, sounding as certain of that fact as he was that the sun would rise the next day.

Lisbon offered a small smile in return. He'd continue to break the rules, and she'd continue to clean up after him. Just the way it worked with the two of them, and she wasn't sure she'd ever be able to change it. But maybe, eventually, she'd get him to think before he leapt. Or at least, give her a heads-up first.

"Yeah," she said as he stepped into the elevator and stood at her side, hands in the pockets of his blazer, smiling down at her, "I think we will."

**END  


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	2. The Green Dragon

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own, still not making any profit. If Lisbon were mine I'd give her better taste in music. Spice Girls? Really, Lisbon?

**A/N**: This chapter is dedicated to **Hardly Loquacious**, for taking the time to talk endlessly about the ins-and-outs of Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon, and for helping me deal with the theory of "jealous Jane" without slipping into cliche. At least, I hope I didn't go there. Let me know!

Set between "Black Gold, Red Blood" 2.06 and "Red Bulls" 2.07

**The Green Dragon**

(Envy)

"_Jealousy is the dragon in paradise; the hell of heaven; and the most bitter of the emotions because it is associated with the sweetest. ~A.R. Orage_

To look at him, one would think Patrick Jane would be the object of many a man's envy. And to be quite honest, he is. And he knows it. Some may call it arrogant (but he's been called far worse) and some may think it narcissistic (and what's wrong with having a bit of pride in one's appearance, anyway?), but Jane's always known where his talents lie. And he's known exactly how to make the best use of them.

Now that he thinks about it, those talents and abilities served him very well. His recent run-in with a baseball – Jane absently rubs his temple as he lays sprawled on his much-abused couch – brought back all the memories of his youth he'd had preferred stayed buried. His father had noticed his innate ability to read people, see through the body language and the expressions to the core of their beings, and lost no time in exploiting it. And the young Jane was more than willing to play the part – the bud of showmanship well watered and fed with fascinated, clamoring crowds in every city, town and single stop-light hamlet they visited.

"You see through people like glass, m'boy," his father had said. And young Jane's heart and grin swelled with the pride he thought he was hearing in his old man's voice. Yes, his talents had served them well through his youth.

Until reality slapped him in the face. One dying girl and her desperate grandmother; the look of naked hope and wonder in her sunken eyes. Her wheezing breath, trembling hands – Jane was nearly physically ill with the guilt that roiled in his gut. For the first time, he couldn't use his gifts to score on a mark.

It was a short lived weakness. Jane took to the notion "you either fleece the suckers or you become one", and as he sits here, it suddenly disturbs him that he can't think of another time (before Red John) when he didn't adhere to that rule. Followed it so well that his fame and fortune increased exponentially through his late twenties through his thirties.

Oh yes. He was _that_ good. Allows a small grin to himself at that.

Jane takes a moment from his reflection to angle his head and look out over the bullpen. Cho sitting at his desk, downloading pictures from his camera from the latest crime scene for his files. Rigsby and Van Pelt emerging from the break room, him leaning down near her ear to whisper something, and she tries to conceal the girlish giggle at whatever he said. Poor things. So very _very_ obvious. Jane figures Lisbon is doing them a favor by not stepping in with one of her rules because she doesn't want her team split up.

Lisbon. Jane's eyes seek out the object of his thoughts and find her in her office, flitting back and forth between her desk and the cabinet, hands full of files. _Ever the busy little bee_, he thinks. She really should stop and take a break. Perhaps some lunch…or some doughnuts from that little café she adores. Her eyes light up with something young and lovely when he brings her favorite food. Jane's become quite fond of eliciting such reactions out of Lisbon, going out of his way to do so sometimes. Just to get that mischievous twinkle – something warm unfurls in his chest at the thought…

He frowns at that feeling. Probably just the sun coming in from the window behind him, and he scoots – nothing obvious, mind you – out of the beam he'd been sunning himself in. It also occurs to him that he's probably been sitting there with a stupid grin and a far away look, because the mousy secretary for the Organized Crime unit is across the hall, staring. Came to use the copier, he supposes, and flashes her a stunner smile.

Mary? Mitzy? Martha – yes, that's her name – turns about three shades of pink and drops a few of the sheets of paper she was holding, trying to recover her dignity. Jane shakes his head. It amuses him how shallow some women are – so willing to take the pretty face, the brilliant, self-assured smile at face value and let themselves be blinded by it. He's well aware of his influence on the fairer sex, and has no qualms about using it to his advantage. What kind of con-man would he be if he didn't use all of the weapons in his arsenal to the fullest extent?

_Been. Past tense,_ he thinks, reminding himself that he's not a con-man anymore. Well, most of the time.

The high-wattage smile, the charm, the confidence, the looks – just an array of arrows in his metaphorical quiver. They're also the caulking that binds his mask together, sealing in the cracks. Keeping the 'true Jane' from leaking out. Can't have the masses knowing too much about the real deal under the glossy exterior.

Because it isn't nearly as pretty.

Jane's eyes slide away from the flustered secretary and back to the team. It's easier for them. They don't have to deal with keeping the mask on, polished and flaw-free 24-7. Sure, each of them has their secrets: Van Pelt with her carefully guarded tragedy (Jane thinks something happened to her in her youth, but hasn't decided if it was a death or she was abused in some way). Rigsby, the normally gentle giant with a soft spot for the lady in distress and a healthy hatred of abusive father figures that ride motorcycles. The enigmatic Cho, harboring the weight of disappointed parents along with the deeds from his gang affiliation.

Jane wonders what rebellious young Cho was like, but then, he knows that some of the most shocking emotional turbulence can lay hidden under a smooth, unflappable surface. Maybe it's best he doesn't pry too much into that one.

Part of him longs to set aside the 'show' and just be real with them. Let them get to know the Patrick Jane that wanted so desperately to help that little dying girl in that carnival so long ago. The one that wishes he'd joined the CBI so many years earlier – before he caused his own ruin – because he's making a difference, and he likes it. The job _is_ worth something. Something more than just a route to finding Red John. But admitting all that is admitting a weakness, a vulnerability, and Patrick Jane doesn't like showing his hand.

Jane knows what their reaction would be if he actually _did_ try to be more open with them, anyway. Disbelief. He chuckles to himself; Rigsby and Van Pelt are always in awe of his capabilities, but they often fail to see the fly in the pudding. There is such a thing as being "too good."

Case in point: Teresa Lisbon. If only she didn't know how good he was with the lie. If only she didn't know what he was capable of (and in some ways, she really doesn't know the _true_ extent – Jane plans on keeping it that way). His kingdom of card tricks for an ounce of real Lisbon trust. He discovered, after that ridiculous trust-fall, that her trust was something he very much wanted. Needed, actually. And Jane is astonished how greedy this need for her belief in him has become.

"You guys finish your D-5s for that car jacking murder last week? 'Cause I need them to finish my report to the DA."

Jane's musings grind to a clattering halt as the voice he's gleefully come to despise enters the room. Samuel Bosco – bourgeois-hardass extraordinaire.

Cho doesn't even look up from his computer. "The Boss has them."

"Good." Bosco stands at the door to the bullpen, as though he knows he's not totally welcome in the inner sanctum of Team Lisbon. The team has gotten past his thinking that Lisbon was guilty for the McTeer murder, but the tension is still there. Jane takes a moment to study Bosco's body language as Rigsby looks up from his coffee.

"It's not so bad, is it?" He's trying to sound non-confrontational, but Jane can see the subtle movement in his shoulders, squaring them toward Bosco. Rigsby is always unconsciously making use of his impressive build when he feels threatened. "You actually _trusting_ us to help you with a case?"

Bosco is making a face, like he just bit into a lemon, when Jane chimes in. "Well, it's not like he had much of a choice. After all, the car jacking was one of several spanning the state – making it within our purview. Unfortunately, Agent Bosco's team failed to find the link between each of the crimes that profiled the killer." Makes a tsking noise, shaking his head ruefully, "Which is kinda sad, since the name of your unit is _Serial_ _Crimes_. Oh well, can't win'em all, right Bosco?"

Jane does nothing to hide the smug gleam in his eye as Bosco works his jaw around the real reply he'd like to give. It probably isn't rated PG either. Instead, Bosco turns back to Rigsby (who's grinning like a teenager about to watch a fight break out).

"Oh yeah," Bosco says, dryly. "It's been a blast. A real slice. We should do it all the time, y'know? Maybe get team tee-shirts made up to wear while we collaborate on cases and such."

Jane can't resist. "I've been saying that for months now." His voice is mild, but Bosco doesn't miss the meaning behind it, or the razor edge to Jane's smile. He fixes his gaze on the older man; the look that usually breaks the most stalwart of suspects.

Bosco's never been intimidated by Jane, however, and simply chuffs under his breath, shaking his head. Red John's case file isn't going anywhere and to hell with any collaboration. "Not a chance, Jane." He starts toward Lisbon's office, throwing over his shoulder, "But by all means, keep bailing out the other units, 'cause _obviously_ no one around here knew what to do before you showed up."

Jane feels the smile melt off his face, replaced by thinly veiled disgust. "Obviously," he mutters.

"The guy's an ass," Rigsby says, turning back to his coffee.

"A higher ranking ass," Cho remarks, humorlessly. "Besides, the Boss trusts him."

Rigsby 'hmms' to himself, then brightens. "Hey, you think–"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

Cho clicks away at his keyboard. "You show up with Serious Crimes team tee-shirts and I'm transferring."

Rigsby's caught between crestfallen and impressed. "Really?"

"Not even kidding."

And as the team goes back to their work, Jane feels Cho's remark sticking in his craw and turning his mood sour:_ "The Boss trusts him." _ He watches Bosco lean in Lisbon's doorway for a moment. Can't hear what they're saying, but he doesn't have to. He can read Lisbon's body language like a recipe for a highly coveted dish.

Her weight leaning against the file cabinet. Casual. Mirroring Bosco's stance. They aren't talking about the car jacking cases. Jane, deciding he needs some tea, gets up and makes his way to the break room, surreptitiously watching the two senior agents.

Bosco moves further into the room; Lisbon counters by moving to her desk. They circle around each other for a moment. _God, it's like a dance_, Jane thinks, and the tea is suddenly bitter in his mouth. Add a dash of smiling, a laugh here and there – Lisbon's relaxed, joking. Jane can't see Bosco's face, but he knows he's smiling. Has that look he gets around Lisbon, sometimes. That soft, gentle look.

Jane pours the tea down the sink drain. He's not thirsty anymore. Heads back to his never-used desk and pretends to be thumbing through one of the many books he keeps there, while carefully watching Lisbon's office.

Now Bosco has moved in and is sitting by Lisbon, perching on the edge of her desk, the file he was carrying opened between them. Leaning over into her space, presumably to point something out. And she lets him. No sign of tension in her shoulders, no stiffening of her presence. Not like she does when Jane moves in a bit too close, and he can feel her entire body tense as if she's ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

Her eyes, as Bosco talks, are calm, knowing – this is all familiar and safe and she trusts him. Jane has to look away for a moment. Doesn't want to be too obvious, you see. It has absolutely nothing to do with the reality that has just snuck up on him with the subtlety of a cougar dragging a trashcan behind him.

When it comes to the delicate morsels of Lisbon's trust, some people get the lion's share. And some are left to work very hard for table scraps.

Jane makes a noise deep in his throat, something between a growl and a whine. More of a growl – Jane certainly doesn't whine. Certainly doesn't let prosaic oafs like Bosco get under his skin, even if that oaf currently has possession of the case that means absolutely everything to Jane. He certainly doesn't care in the least that Bosco thinks that he's a bad influence on Lisbon's team, or that he doesn't belong at CBI.

Certainly doesn't care for the way Bosco's hovering over Lisbon's shoulder right now, his hand bracing on the desk behind her. Almost _around_ her…

_Oh please_, Jane mentally sighs, _can you be any more obvious?_ Well, he simply can't take this anymore. Standing and striding toward her office, Jane figures if anything, he needs to save Lisbon from the impropriety their body language implies. Her looking so cozy with Bosco… what would people think?

Jane reaches the door, sizing up the two of them with barley contained disapproval. "My my. Interesting case?" When the two of them look up like startled deer, Jane feels his malicious side beginning to take interest. A sly grin threatens to erupt on his face, but he manages to look innocent. He gestures between them, "You two, huddled together so cozy. Must be some good reading."

At his "cozy" reference, Bosco averts his eyes and slides ever-so-slightly away from Lisbon, while she slaps the file closed and leans away from him. Jane is fighting that grin even harder now. Oh, this is just sad.

"Did you need something, Jane?" Lisbon asks, trying to regain control.

"Who? Me? Oh no, not really. I was just curious as to what could be in that file about the car-jackings that's so intriguing." Jane slips his hands in his pockets and tilts his head, eyeing Bosco. "Your body language suggested something highly…intimate," he lets the word slide off his tongue like melted chocolate, suggestive and smooth, "…in those files." His choice of words has the desired effect, Bosco's neck is starting to color an interesting shade of pink and he's glaring daggers (though Jane is reconsidering using 'intimate' as it's double meaning is leaving a decidedly acidic tang in Jane's mouth).

Lisbon looks like she's been struck dumb momentarily, her mouth working to find the right words of indignation, but Jane decides that he likes his current position of power over the two of them and presses on. "Oh. Now, see? This body language right here," he waggles his finger between them, "this is guilt. Whatever would you two have to be guilty about?"

"Nothing," Bosco grinds out. He looks the same as when Jane interrupted them – purely by chance, of course – in her office the night they proved her innocent of the McTeer murder. Like he wants to run. Oh… Jane likes watching Bosco squirm.

"Bosco was just going over the killer's profile with me," Lisbon says, looking between the two men. "Just making sure all the 'i's were dotted before we send it to the DA."

"Yeah," Bosco agrees.

Jane nods, understandingly. "Yeah. Oh, right. Dotting the 'i's. Sure." Tries to affect a non-committal, 'oh yes I believe you' air, but he never could hide his sarcasm from Lisbon.

She narrows her eyes at him. "You sure you don't have something better to do?" She's caught on to the game, but Jane's having far too much fun to care.

He waltzes into her office, airily confident, and as he suspects, Bosco retreats. Just like that night he brought her doughnuts. Something in Jane, the competitor in him perhaps, smiles in malicious glee. He's gaining ground on Bosco. Now he'll prove just how much he belongs here. How this really is _his_ team…

"Not especially," Jane replies, and takes Bosco's vacated spot next to Lisbon on the edge of her desk. Smiles amiably at the two bewildered agents. "I can help you by checking over the profile, if you want." He's turned to Lisbon, looking down into her eyes, which are still narrowed suspiciously at him. _Oh come now_, he thinks. He hates that he receives this look from her all too often. Gives her a subtle charm-grin.

Bosco steps forward, physically insinuating himself back into the picture. "We don't need your help, _Jane_. The profile is correct and I'm sending it to the DA as is."

Jane slides his gaze to the older agent. "You needed my help in finding the guy, Bosco. Stands to reason you might need me to check over the profile. In case, y'know, there's something _else_ you _missed_." There it is. Bosco just tipped his hand and Jane is more than willing to take advantage.

Bosco's eyes have gone cold and he steps into Jane's space. But even though he knows Bosco has him beat, hands-down, in a fight, Jane isn't backing down. He only feels something course through his veins, the same high he gets when he discovers the chink in a suspect's armor, and he's ready to run his blade right through the hole. The more he feels the hate rolling off Bosco, the more vicious Jane's smile becomes.

"You think _I_ missed something, smart guy?"

_Smart guy? Really?_ "Your case, your blunder, Agent Bosco. Didn't they teach you responsibility in CBI training school?"

Bosco smiles. It's deadly serious. "You wanna talk responsibility? You? Of all people?"

Jane feels something cold weigh in his stomach, his fist clenches unconsciously. "Oh, I supposed you're going to start singing that same old tune again? 'I don't belong here, I'm a bad influence'…blah blah. You really need to get some new material."

"Whats'a matter, Jane? I think the truth has a pretty good ring to it." He's looming over Jane now, and the consultant has the irrational urge to head butt the great buffoon. Just to knock him back.

Not that he would, of course. He's seen Rigsby do it and it looks like it hurts like hell. Probably seriously damage his face too. Can't have that. But still.

Jane laughs a little, condescending and acerbic. "Oh, it's the truth you want? Well, let me tell you-"

But a small hand has appeared on Bosco's chest, the corresponding one pressing against Jane's with surprising force. Apparently, he'd forgotten about the one he'd originally came in to spare of Bosco's company. Lisbon shoves them both, and Bosco yields a few steps backward.

"Knock it off, you two. God, give me a little warning next time and I'll have the measuring sticks out and ready for you." Lisbon stands between them, aggravated.

Measuring sticks? Jane's shark-smile melts into one of amusement. Somehow, Lisbon wanting to take Jane's _measurements_ sparks a few intriguing, though highly inappropriate thoughts before he can stop himself.

"Why do you insist on keeping him around, Teresa? Is he really worth all this shit for a high solve rate?" Bosco is weary now, his anger ebbed to frustration.

But it's the use of her first name that catches Jane off guard. _No one_ on the team calls her _Teresa_. Hell, he thinks he's heard Minelli call her that once or twice, but it's usually with a fatherly connotation. This is different. This is Bosco calling her that, in that damned 'knowing' tone that speaks of experiences and trust that Jane will probably never know with her. Something brittle gives way inside Jane…

…And his mouth starts working before he can think clearly. "Is that what she told you, Bosco? That I'm indispensable because I solve cases?" Lisbon's looking at him now, her eyes wide, fearing the razors that can come spewing forth from his mouth. Well, it's too late now… Jane can feel the anger bubbling up from within as he stands, coiling for his attack.

"Oh that's right. The little _blackmailing_ episode to get me out of jail. Really, Bosco, letting your feelings get in the way like that? Bet you didn't think Lisbon was capable of that kind of betrayal. Not to you. Not with all your… _history_ together." Jane feels it flowing off him, the need to push even further, when he is pulling out the details of a person's being as though he's reeling in a catch. When he's in the zone, it's hard to stop, despite the horror on Lisbon's face.

"Boy, that really must gall you still, doesn't it? That she did all that for me, and that I'm here, continuing to be a bad influence. And she keeps sticking up for me, doesn't she? Because that's who she is, isn't it? Our dear Mother Teresa."

Bosco's turning pale now, stealing glances, despite himself, at the woman beside him. Oh, guess he'd forgotten he should still be pissed at Lisbon, eh?

Jane doesn't look at Lisbon. _Can't_ look at her. Not while he's working on eviscerating Bosco with this. Because to do that, he has to use Lisbon as the carving knife, and will ultimately end up grinding her against the sharpening stone in the process.

"Jane," he hears her whisper.

"It must still burn that the woman you loved would use the one thing…" Keeps plowing ahead.

"Jane. Stop it." A plea tints the demand.

Jane steps forward, pointing at Bosco's chest, "…the _one_ thing you thought she'd never use against you. For a pain in the ass like me. Wow. I find that very intriguing."

Now, he looks at Lisbon with his final words, and all the righteous, arrogant fury in him drains so fast he's nearly nauseous. She's pale, drawn and shaking with anger and disbelief. He looks down and away immediately, as something that feels a lot like shame drips into his being. Realization sinking in that while he wanted to burn Bosco a bit, maybe he didn't mean to rake her over the coals so succinctly.

Or maybe, part of him did. His brain and heart are at odds about that thought when Bosco breaks the silence.

The older agent releases a breath – _a shaky breath_, Jane muses, but it could be wishful thinking – and turns to Lisbon. "He's going to get you killed, y'know. 'S all I'm saying. Just don't think he's worth it," he mutters as he passes behind her and makes his exit.

For an interminable moment, they stand silently in Lisbon's office, the clock on the wall ticking away, unfazed by the vacuum that seems to have enveloped the room. Jane slumps back against the desk, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. What to do now?

Swallows the acid in his throat and chances a look at her. Those cat-green eyes are burning holes right through his chest. He thinks if he had much of a soul, it would have a two-foot crater in it from the heat of her glare by now. So he tries to shrug off the stinging and the guilt, as always. It's not like he knows where all that vitriol came from anyway, and that scares the hell out of him.

"So…uh. I guess I shouldn't expect a Christmas card from the Bosco family this year, eh?"

He watches as the anger in her gaze gives way to such utter disappointment he thinks he might strangle on it. He hates when she looks at him like this, after he's done something irreparable and then dealt with it in the way she never approves of. The "how could you do this" look.

He expects her to call him a bastard. He is one, after all. No secret there. Jane's contemplating having a nametag made: "Hello, I'm A. Bastard!"

Expects the ranting to begin any moment. He's used to it. Feels his jaw clench waiting and watching those hated emotions swim in green orbs. He wants to yell at her, shake her, crush her to him and never let go…a thousand other things that are incredibly better than just standing here waiting for the boom to be lowered.

Her voice is hoarse. "Can't do it, can you?"

"What?" When she does something that throws him off track it worries him. He can usually read the signs and tell which road she'll take.

"Say you're sorry. You never do." Lisbon shakes her head, smiles a tragic half-smile. "Maybe you can't."

"Lisbon, I–" He's said he was sorry before, he's sure of it! What does she mean: he _can't_? Can't she _see_ that he's sorry? He's got 'sorry' written all over him…has since they day they met! He's 'sorry-walking' for Christ's sake.

Lisbon's reaching gingerly around him to grab a folder off her desk, as if the conversation is over. But it's not – not as far as Jane's concerned. She doesn't get to leave after a statement like that. Considers grabbing her by the arm, but she's wearing her Glock, so he thinks better of it.

Jane watches her movements, slow and deliberate, distancing herself from him. It pokes something still unhealed inside.

"Wasn't like anything I said was untrue," he says. Oh, that is horrendous, and he knows it. This along with a myriad of other things he's said and done in the past few minutes are beyond taking back, though.

Lisbon pauses, looks at him over her shoulder. Something ignites in her eyes for only a moment, and Jane thinks she'll round on him now. She's rather beautiful wearing her cloak of sublime fury, he realizes. But it dies out, leaving resignation behind.

"What Bosco said is probably true, too."

Jane feels his ire ramping up again at her taking Bosco's side. "What – that I'm not worth the trouble, or that I'll supposedly get you hurt?" Really, why everyone thought him such a diabolical liability was beyond him…

Lisbon shrugs one shoulder. "Both." Simple. To the point. Finding that chink in his armor so easily, slicing through it like butter as only _she_ can.

She leaves Jane sitting in her office, worrying that maybe she's right.

**TBC with "Gluttony"… **

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	3. Of Guilt and Ghosts

**Disclaimer**: If any of this _Mentalist _stuff were mine, I'd have made that finale just a "bit" different. Just saying. But it's not, never has been. Moving on.

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay. Procrastination, she is my middle name. This is me trying for a happier ending. And I'm adding a caveat to my _Mentalist_ stories, saying that if I make Jane out to be a real bastard, or if he seems overly mean, it's probably because he was on my bad side at the time. Most of the last few episodes, he's actually been on my good side. Oh, and the finale? Yeah, trying not to think about it. Suffice to say I was disappointed. So, most of my _Mentalist _stories this summer will probably revolve around dealing with the issues the creator/writers DID NOT deal with this season. As dearly departed Bosco would say, "I'm very pissed off about that, by the way." Thanks, as always, to beta **_Celia Stanton_**.

Enjoy my little salute to a character with so much potential that I feel was killed off too soon. Let me know how I did.

**Of Guilt and Ghosts**

(Gluttony)

"_It is not alone the fact that women have generally had to spend most of their strength in caring for others that has handicapped them in individual effort; but also that they have almost universally had to care wholly for themselves." – Anna Garlin Spencer_

She's never been one to believe in ghosts. An afterlife, perhaps – she's not as cut-and-dry on the issue as Jane. With him, it's not only absurd but naive to believe that when a person dies, they go on to a higher existence, with the possibility that they can look down on loved ones left behind. She's told Van Pelt numerous times dealing with Jane on subjects like this is like the signs at Yellowstone: Don't Feed the Bears. It only encourages him to pare away at your beliefs with the razor of his mind, until you either feel like an idiot or (more likely) you want to strangle him.

Lisbon firmly believes that most of Jane's bluster on the issue is because it reminds him of his past as a psychic – pretending to contact the dead in order to fleece the living – and therefore, something to be shunned with animosity. Look at what that past got him, anyway. As a result, she'd never confide in him that secretly, Lisbon entertains the hope that there is a better existence beyond this mortal coil.

The first time she hears his voice, she writes it off as fatigue. Sitting in her office, lit only by the lone desk lamp, staring at a desk littered with victim folders, aliases and leads, Lisbon has gone about three hours past the point when her brain holds up a white flag of defeat. The case just isn't making sense, and she can't quite put the puzzle pieces together where they fit all nice and neat. The female victim had died of an asthma attack at a protest rally, and it was later determined that her rescue inhaler had been tampered with. Other than the fact that she was an avid activist, they couldn't quite pin down a motive.

Sighing, she drops the last sheet outlining the life of the victim's brother into her pile and rubs her aching eyes. The office is quiet and even Jane has disappeared to locations unknown.

"You should have stopped for lunch, Teresa."

She's so damn tired she answers without thinking. "Couldn't. Case is stalling out. Someone killed this woman and I have to find out…" she trails off, eyes opening slowly. What the hell?

"Don't blame yourself so much. You're shaving years off your life, y'know." The voice is eerily familiar, warm and masculine. A slight lilt of an East Coast accent? "If I was you, I'd look a little closer at the brother's financials. What's a bong-head like that doing riding in a brand new Camero, anyway?"

Lisbon is wide awake now, head swiveling, looking for the source of the voice. Surely someone wasn't warped enough to be pretending to fake _his_ voice, of all people. A scan of the office reveals what she already knows – she's totally alone.

Chews her bottom lip. Jeez, she really needs a vacation if she's hearing _his_ voice giving her advice on suspects. Still, she did notice the flashy car that the victim's brother was sporting on a minimum wage job. A quick check of his bank records would probably reveal a pay off. But from whom?

She's pondering this when she hears the very real footsteps of someone approaching her office. She doesn't have to guess who it is, not at this hour.

"It's the brother," Jane announces by way of greeting. "No way a loser like him gets to drive that kind of ride, we should…Lisbon?" He stops his declaration.

"Yeah. Kinda figured on that already," she says, still worrying her bottom lip. When she turns to him, Jane's got that 'look'. The "I know something's going in here" look.

"Well, since we're on the same page about this, why don't you let me buy you a cup of coffee while we discuss the brother's interrogation? He didn't mean to kill her, by the way; he loved her too much. But someone who really _did_ want her dead paid him off and made him think he was just going to make her sick."

She nods distractedly, not really making eye contact as she gathers her things. "You figured all of that out in just the one interview with the brother?"

"Yes." He smiles triumphantly, as if it's obvious. Jane is _that brilliant_, after all. "But we should investigate the victim's causes that she rallied for. My bet is that she infuriated the wrong person with all her protests."

"I'd pay serious money to see you come up wrong some time," Lisbon mutters as the head to the elevators.

"Oh, come now," Jane soothes, in his most schmaltzy voice. "You should know better than to bet against me, Lisbon. Besides, that kinda hurts."

From somewhere behind her, Lisbon hears the voice drawl out, "Ass." After an initial flinch, she smirks, while Jane holds the elevator doors for her.

Yep. She's just _really_ tired.

* * *

The voice stays with her, coming in and out, usually when she's at her lowest point or feeling the most vulnerable. Sometimes when she's a hair's breath away from taking her Glock and shooting Jane's kneecaps out for nearly wrecking her cases, but in those instances, the voice is usually cheering her on. Lisbon knows who it is – she's heard that voice too many times on the job… mentoring, joking, comforting her. She knows enough about the human condition and psychology to realize that she's just projecting her inner thoughts in _his_ voice.

And she's comforted a little by that. She's not going crazy. Just overworked.

Until she _sees_ him.

Another case closed, and again, like so many other evenings after so many other cases lately, Lisbon feels like she's been raked over the coals. Hightower swings schizophrenically (or maybe it's all part of whatever her master plan is) between threatening her job because of Jane's behavior, then praising them for solving the case despite Jane's aforementioned behavior, and she leaves the woman's office with a migraine and her suspicions. Jane is surprisingly more contrite about his actions. He seems genuinely concerned for her, but she knows better than to trust that it'll make a difference. His meanings will be well intended, but his executions will be so extravagantly horrible, and Lisbon will have to bear the brunt of the tide sweeping her out to sea.

The worst of it all is that she can't even bring herself to care much anymore. Future set. It is what it is. Just like she told him in that cargo container.

Lisbon trudges out of Hightower's office – having just heard yet another incarnation of the same manipulation that only Hightower and Jane seem to be able to stomach – making her way to grab her coat. She's had quite enough of this place for one day, and the only thing she wants is some solitude in the comfort of her apartment.

And yet, he follows her. Never has learned when to leave well enough alone, she reminds herself.

"Lisbon, look, I know you're not happy but…"

"Why shouldn't I be happy, Jane?" She tilts her head, false smile in place. "Case got solved, one way or another. We might have looked like a three ring circus, with you as ring master, but what the hell, as long as Hightower stays happy, right?"

Jane swallows, and part of her takes a little malicious glee in the fact that for once, he doesn't seem to know what to do.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not." She retorts, flatly. God she needs a drink.

A heavy sigh, then he sounds agitated. "Well, what do you want me to do, then?"

Lisbon casts a glance over her shoulder at him – standing in the hall, frustration written over every inch of that often angelic face. Hands out, placating.

There are so many things she wants him to do. Try harder, mean what he says, not be a broken mass of vengeance and self loathing, be trustworthy…the list goes on. And not one item on that list she'll get, she thinks.

"Nothing," she says, leaving an utterly confused Jane in her wake.

She exits CBI and Jane at least has enough good sense not to follow her this time. Almost to her car when she notices a man on the other side of the street, watching her. Her heart seizes in her chest.

Can't be. She takes off across the street in a dead run, not caring about the looks from passers by or the honking of cars as she barrels into the road. Vaguely, she thinks she hears someone yelling her name in fear.

She keeps him just in sight. Just when she gets close enough to see another familiar feature – the balding head, same white rumpled shirt rolled up at the sleeves – he disappears around a corner. Lisbon has no idea how far she's run, only that she _has_ to catch up. _Has_ to know. It's insane and impossible and yet she can't stop following him.

He disappears into a door, and Lisbon recognizes the place. _De Vere's_ pub – a favorite of the law enforcement locals in the capital. Warm, crimson walls accented by cherry-wood bar and tables, thick cushions on the stools. Pictures of Ireland on the walls and friendly staff. The perfect place to get lost in the warmth of the alcohol and the atmosphere. One of their favorite places to stop and have a drink, before he went home to his wife and she went home to her TV and couch. She hasn't been back since he died.

Lisbon scans the room frantically, earning a few odd stares. Composing herself and taking a seat on a far corner stool, Lisbon runs a shaky hand through her hair. What the hell was wrong with her? Chasing a ghost for 6 blocks at a dead run?

Orders a drink – scotch on the rocks – and downs her first in one shot. The second goes down just as fast, and she's about to order a third when a presence appears at her side. Lisbon's throat closes in on itself.

"Better slow down. Or Joe will have to order you a cab."

Her eyes shift to Joe the bartender, who's down at the far end of the bar, oblivious to the clearly loony woman hallucinating at the other end. Slowly, she blinks, takes a deep breath, and turns her head, fully expecting to see nothing. The voice has been in her head all this time, right? There is no such thing as ghosts.

Dear God, he still has the same gentle smile she'd seen so many times when he'd left her office after saying goodnight. Same warmth in his eyes. His looks down at her with a crooked, knowing grin, and Lisbon feels light headed. She sways on her seat.

"Oh, hey, don't be passin' out on me, there, Teresa. It's not like I can carry you to the cab myself." He says.

"It's the alcohol. That's what it is. I've had too much and now I'm hallucinating, "Lisbon reasons.

"Could be," he agrees. "Or maybe you're seeing me because you just… need to see me."

She swallows the sob in her throat. "Sam."

Sam nods and chuffs out a laugh, "Yeah. Sorry about the little hide and go seek game out there, but I figured you needed a night away from the office." He sits on the stool next to her, hunching over the bar. No one notices.

It's all so familiar, like he's sat there a million times before, but Lisbon can't stop the loop rewinding over and over in her mind: _He's dead!_

He laughs again, "And yes, Teresa, I know I'm dead. And I'm still pissed off about that, by the way. But to answer your other question – no, you're not nuts."

Lisbon nods once, and then leans her face on her hand, turning away from the rest of the bar as if she's engrossed in her drink. "Okay, so what is this then? What am I, Ebenezer Scrooge and you're Jacob Marley, come to tell me I'll be visited by three ghosts? Cause I got to tell you, Sam, I don't have time."

At that, Sam laughs outright, and Lisbon can't help but grin. It's just too ridiculous. But it feels so comfortable, so much like he is alive that Lisbon bites back the tears of longing that it could be true. She's missed him more than she realized.

Sam seems to understand this. "This isn't Charles Dickens." He gives her a little nod of the chin, " 'Been worried about you."

"I'm fine." In the same tone she's used with Jane half a dozen times. Jane never believed her and neither does Sam. But at Sam's look, she crumples a little. Looks down at her drink, suddenly terrified that she'll become a blubbering mass of tears, and finally admits the truth. "It's… it's just been hard, y'know?"

"I know. I'm sorry, Teresa." Sam murmurs, and she watches such utter sadness wash over his face. It almost does her in, so she looks away, hastily.

"So, when you gonna snap out of it?"

This shocks her stupid, and Lisbon's head snaps up so fast she's nearly dizzy. "What?" She jerks, remembering to whom she's talking, and looks around, making sure no one's looking at the crazy lady in the corner arguing with thin air.

The sadness is gone, and Sam looks like her old mentor again, the one who didn't pull punches. The Sam who knows her better than just about anyone. "I mean it. I gotta say, I never thought the day would come when Teresa Lisbon let people steam roll her and use her like a pawn in a bad chess game." He points toward the CBI. "That's your career they're playing with. The career you worked damn hard to create. I know. I watched you work in Frisco. I know how much it meant to you to get transferred to the CBI."

Lisbon splutters, "I – I'm not _letting_ them do anything. Hightower's my boss and I can't –"

"I knew that disaster in a three-piece suit was going to get you into more trouble than you could handle." Sam growls. Even in death, the man still harbors a healthy dislike for one blond consultant.

_Christ_. She thought crossing over in the big "D" would make grudges a little pointless. Problem is, he's right. "I handle Jane just fine," she grumbles. When in doubt, start singing the same old tune.

"Hey, I'm dead, not dumb. Hightower wants Jane to be her golden trick pony, and help her ride the wave of success that will make the CBI the top law enforcement agency in the state." At Lisbon's look he smirks. "The afterlife gets the inside scoop on everything, what can I say. Anyway, she thinks she's found the whip to make Jane move – you."

Lisbon shakes her head. "Well, then, she's in for a surprise. Jane's not going to change on my account." She adds under her breath, "No matter what he says…"

"And that really hurts, doesn't it? You thought, since he saved your life you'd cut him some slack, give him a longer leash. And now you're going to get strangled by it, if you aren't careful."

A shrug. "What can I do? Hightower has some game in play that I haven't figured out yet, and Jane…he just can't help himself. I knew Jane would get me fired one day. I just thought…" She hates that the excuses are becoming so worn she can't even find the strength to make them sound believable.

Sam runs a hand over his graying goatee and sighs. "You thought he'd see the light eventually. Always trying to save the un-savable, eh? Glutton for punishment." When she looks at him, she sees he's not being condescending, just truthful. As always.

So very unlike Jane.

They lapse into silence for a few minutes and Lisbon muses about the man (or whatever he is) beside her and the man she bears like the cross around her neck. How starkly different they are. The flip-sides of a coin.

Sam Bosco is steadfast, predictable, and forthright. Jane is every bit the showman, untrustworthy and about as predictable as the weather. In appearance, she's always thought Bosco to be average, every day, befitting the normalcy that surrounds his life; a job he's good at, a wife and kids. Jane is as extravagant in his plans and deeds as he is ridiculously pretty. Oh sure, Lisbon knows the looks are just another version of a sword and shield – a weapon to lull one into false sense of security and mask the ugliness festering under the surface – but she's a woman, after all. She can appreciate a gorgeous car, doesn't mean she's buying the sales pitch.

Where Bosco tells it like it is – Jane, the conman, tells you what you want to hear. Whatever sells the plan. And when he does speak the truth, he wields it like a scythe, slicing into a person's character and pulling out all one's secrets for all to see.

She trusts Bosco to have her back. She trusts Jane will have a plan that might not take her into consideration at all. One can be taken at face value, for the most part – one's face value is covered by a handsome mask with an ulterior motive. The rule breaker versus the enforcer.

Bosco might be boring (she grins at that) but at least she knows where she stands with him. She knows what she meant to him. Patrick Jane is a thrill ride in the middle of a maze that alternately fascinates, intrigues, terrifies and annoys. And the floor you think you stand on with him could be made of sand.

Her reverie is broken by Sam's voice. "I hate to see you like this, Teresa. All of the people you trust are gone, and you think your fate is inevitable. You're drowning and I'm afraid you're not going to come up for air."

"I know how to swim."

"Treading water isn't the same thing." He says. "Don't let Hightower use you as leverage for whatever game she wants to play with Jane. One manipulating sonofabitch is enough to deal with. Confront her."

Lisbon chuckles. "I'd love to, and still have a job. Besides, you're making Jane out to be Evil Incarnate again, and he really isn't Sam." She isn't totally sure who she's trying to convince. "He's…_trying_. In his own screwed up way."

"Still defending him," Sam sighs, a rueful smile on his face. "And before you say it's because he closes cases, don't even bother, Lisbon. Because you and I both know, it's _more_ than that."

She can't argue with him now. Where she used to retreat – as she often does when someone who knows her too well makes her face something she isn't willing to deal with – now, she only swallows and stares at the man beside her. He smiles knowingly, some of the sadness seeping into the crinkles around his eyes again. Lisbon suddenly feels like apologizing for unspeakable things: for abusing his trust and friendship, for brushing aside his concern, for not loving him the way he wanted.

God, it hurts to look at him. The ache of missing him overwhelms her as the tears well in her eyes. Sam looks like he wants so badly to embrace her, but he clears his throat awkwardly, and starts shifting on his stool.

"Listen, uh…I gotta go. I just…y'know, wanted to talk to you. See if you were okay."

Her voice is treacherous, watery. "I'm not." That admission alone feels like a coat of dead weight has been shifted off her shoulders.

His smile is tender. "I know." Then he confidently says, "But you will be. Besides," he looks toward the door when the bell jingles the arrival of another patron, "I got a guy who's supposed to be lookin' after you. He's sorta sucking at it right now, but I'm hoping he'll get better at it."

Lisbon wants to plead with Sam to stay, but knows it's futile. This dream has to end at some point, she figures. She feels a smirk pulling at her mouth. "Yeah, or you'll haunt Jane, right?"

Sam pauses as he turns to leave. "That what he told you I said?" Grin widens and shakes his head, amused. "Figures."

"I knew it," she exclaims. "Wait, what did you really say to him, Sam?"

Sam's starting to fade, but she can see him nod toward the door. "You'll have to get it out of Jane. Skip the wheedling, I'd go for shooting him in the foot first."

Glancing toward the front of the pub, she spies Jane – looking like he might have jogged after her the entire six or seven blocks (and for Jane, this amount of physical exertion probably meant he was about to pass out). He's trying to smooth his disheveled appearance.

She turns back to Sam, only to find he's gone, an empty stool still pushed in beside her. As if no one had ever been there. She exhales, the encounter leaving her bereft and unsure.

Her consultant sidles up to her. "Okay, I know you said once that this place was nice, but I had no idea it was worth a midnight marathon into oncoming traffic." Covering his concern with sarcasm. Lisbon feels something like normal again after the last few moments of probable lunacy.

And Jane _is_ concerned. Downright hovering. His mask slips a little and she sees that he can't figure out what's wrong with her, and that scares him.

_Join the club, buddy_.

"Lisbon, what's going on? Why'd you take off like you were running down a suspect?" He asks.

Lisbon looks back to her drink, knowing that he'll see through any façade she tries to conjure. And she's too worn out to even try. "Thought I saw somebody I knew."

"Who?"

Shakes her head and shrugs one shoulder. "Doesn't matter. I was wrong." She lies smoothly.

Jane studies her and she lets him. His brilliant mind is coming up with a hundred and one possibilities as to why she's lying to him, but she's pretty sure seeing the deceased Sam Bosco isn't one of them. And she likes that for once, she's got the upper hand. Even if the upper hand _is_ a hallucination.

"I saw you just before you took off running. You looked like you saw a ghost." Jane's doubt is evident in his tone.

"Maybe I did," she says. And she finishes her drink before she allows Jane to walk her back to CBI in companionable silence. For once, he keeps his thoughts to himself.

* * *

It takes Lisbon a few days to process her encounter with her beloved mentor. Logically, a conversation with a dead man was just her psyche's way of dealing with the shitstorm culminating around her life and her job of late. Doesn't mean she hasn't woken up a few times in the middle of the night, with Sam's name on her lips.

She'll always miss him.

So, she isn't surprised to find herself at the cemetery one evening, just as the sun is setting behind the trees, throwing long shadows over the headstones. Walking down the footpath toward the lone oak tree, Lisbon hears an evening lark sing its mournful tune to the setting sun, and the wind makes the flowers on the headstones quiver.

Lisbon usually hates cemeteries – too many memories that are better left dead and buried – but this place has a beautiful loneliness about it. Peaceful.

Standing at his headstone, she reads his name etched into the marble: Samuel Bosco Jr. It goes one to say things like beloved and "he will be missed", but she already understands all of that. Feels it as deeply as she felt the comfort of his presence that night. She no longer hears his voice, and for a while, it was like losing him all over again.

Lisbon kneels and replaces the dying bouquet in the vase with the non-descript wildflowers she's brought. Takes a moment to arrange them just right before standing, hands shoved into her jeans pockets.

There are things she wants to say, but doesn't have the voice to do it with. So she settles on something simple. Truthful. "Thanks, Sam."

Maybe it took a ghost to remind her that things aren't totally out of her control, and she shouldn't have to settle for a crappy outcome. Nothing is set in stone. Maybe Hightower's machinations were achieving some sort of result. In some way, Lisbon knows that Jane cares about her, and that her well-being means something to him, even if he can't control his inner two-year-old long enough to stay out of trouble.

A little growth is better than none at all, right? And oddly enough, the most unreliable one of her team has been the very one she could count on to check on her. Jane, the self-absorbed ego maniac, has been the only one trying to get her to talk about her problems. Picking at her locks, trying to get her to let him in.

She sighs. It's tempting to give in to the earnest looks of concern and the professions that he'll "save her." But the fundamental problem is that Jane will never be able to save someone else until he can help himself.

Perhaps it's the offer that counts right now.

Lisbon is about to leave when she feels him approaching. Can't help but smile at the fact that he's practically been stalking her lately. Guess he's afraid she'll go off the deep end. And then where would he be?

Jane stands next to her, looking immaculate in his three piece coat of armor. She sees him affecting an air of nonchalance, but in the waning sunlight, she sees the guilt marring his handsome features. Being at Bosco's grave is the same as going home to sleep under that damned smiley face – a grim reminder of more loss, more failure. Jane doesn't look at her right away, just stands in silence, studying the surroundings.

He's shifting uncomfortably after a few seconds. He hates being there, but will endure it – for her.

"You followed me."

"Yeah." He shrugs.

She cuts her eyes at him from beneath her lashes. "Aren't you going to tell me it's pointless to stand here and talk to a gravestone? That talking to the dead is nonsense?" She's poking a little, but she can't help herself. Talking to the dead is exactly what she's done. Maybe this is preemptive strike for what would come if he knew about her eerily real hallucinations.

Jane looks at her, wounded. And she regrets poking a stick at him when he's in a place that brings up his guilt and throws it in his face. A place the summons his demons to dance on his soul. He looks down and away, almost shy and very unsure, before catching her eyes again. "No, Lisbon. I wouldn't say that to you _here_, of all places." And he means it.

For once, he's willing to put all of his haughty opinions and conceptions aside for her. Trying to tell her he wouldn't intentionally hurt her. And for a moment, she desperately wants to give him the key to the little box in her soul where she keeps her trust.

"Thanks," is all she can say.

"Anytime."

* * *

A man is standing next to an old oak tree in the corner of the cemetery, as the sun gives up its hold on the sky, watching a petit, brunette, woman and a handsome, blond man keeping a graveside vigil. The night birds call out as the wind picks up, the landscape shifting from the evening hues of orange and red to the grays and blues of night. The blond guy shuffles for a moment, before stealing his arm around the smaller woman's shoulders.

After a second of tension, she relaxes. Even leans into him.

A contented smile spreads across the blond guy's face, as if for the first time in ages, he's finding a little peace with himself.

The man near the old oak runs a hand over his graying goatee and nods once toward the couple, a final approval of sorts, before fading away into the night.

_**END**_

**Next up "Lust"…**

**READ AND REVIEW! Let me know what YOU think!  
**


	4. The Straw and the Camel's Back

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own anything related to _The Mentalist_.

**A/N:** I have to give complete and unending gratitude to **Hardly Loquacious** and **SSJL** for helping me with this chapter. With out them, you'd never see this monstrosity. Thanks to the show giving us NOTHING to work with in this arena, you can see why it took so long to get out. The first part actually has little to do with the sin of Lust, but Bret Stiles is probably one of my favorite recurring characters on this show, so I had to write him in. This is what I wished he'd have done in "Red All Over". Sorry about the length, but Stiles wouldn't stop being awesome.

The next sins I'll try to set in season 3. Because the Fortress of Solitude must be given props, methinks. Let me know how I did!

Set after 2x20 "Red All Over"

**The Straw and the Camel's Back**

(Lust)

"_Capricious, wanton, bold and brutal lust is meanly selfish; when resisted, cruel. And like the blast of pestilential winds, taints the sweet bloom of nature's fairest forms." John Milton_

Lisbon took a seat at her desk, hot cup of coffee in one hand, and the Harrington file in the other. Time to finalize the paperwork on a job well done. Hadn't even garnered a call to Hightower's office for some convoluted display of push and pull that she and the CBI's most wayward consultant seemed to enjoy. If anything, Lisbon could stand fewer calls to the principal's office.

Harrington was safely in custody, and as she thought back to the trap to nab him, Lisbon couldn't help feeling a little swell of pride in her ability to play the game. Using the kid to draw out Harrington's confession, however, was not her idea. But, as she thought back to that resounding smack of Sadie Harrington's hand across Jane's cheek, she felt a little less guilty. Oh, the way he flailed backward…Lisbon smiled into her cup.

_Something that should happen more often_, she thought.

"I must congratulate you, Agent Lisbon," purred a cultured, slightly gravelly voice, "on a job well done. It seems that you are a woman of many talents, not the least of which is infinite patience."

Her eyes met the knowing smile of Bret Stiles, self-help guru, con man and admittedly charming leader of the cultish Visualize Center. He stood in the middle of her doorway, hands in his pockets, taking her in with an almost proud expression.

"Mr. Stiles. Can I help you?" She asked. Her gut twisted for a moment. He'd probably come to inform her that the CBI would be receiving a suit filed against them for the actions of one Patrick Jane. Wasn't the first time, wouldn't be the last.

Stiles' grin widened. "Fear not, Agent. I'm not here to make your life harder by slapping your consultant, and by extension _your_ _team_, with a harassment suit." He ambled in, casting a quick glance over his shoulder toward Hightower's office. "Although the thought did occur to me."

Seeing the excuses blooming on Lisbon's face, Stiles waved her off, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite her desk. "Oh, frivolous lawsuits such as that are hardly worth my time, my dear. But _you_ however…" He crossed one leg over the other and cast an appraising eye on his befuddled subject. "I simply had to stop by and tell you how much I admire you, Agent Lisbon."

Lisbon's eyes darted back and forth between Stiles and the door, as if she expected the crew of some hidden camera project were going to jump out and tell her she'd just been punked. Brow furrowed, she smiled warily at the well-dressed man across from her.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stiles…but I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."

There was no mistaking the gleam in Stiles' eye, and Lisbon had the distinct feeling that all that charm and savoir-faire belied the real Bret Stiles. Underneath the grandfatherly warmth, the dashing silver hair and the wisdom, she could see the predator looking out from those cool blue eyes. Lisbon had dealt with her share of powerful men, and usually wasn't put off by them. But Stiles had his own unique presence, an aura of dominion and superiority, and part of her couldn't help feeling a little like a rabbit being sweet-talked by a very savvy fox.

"You endeavor to bring criminals to justice. You deal with the never ending bureaucracy that goes hand in hand with the justice system. You're responsible for your team. Their lives depend on your judgment." He paused, gesturing out toward the bullpen. "All of that, while holding the leash to a man as unstable as your Mr. Jane."

She let her eyes fall to her desk, knowing where this little discussion was going.

She earned a compassionate smile from the fox. "I don't wonder why you spend late nights, cloistered in this office with your files and your computer – the few things you feel you can exert some control over these days."

Something hard and cold lodged in Lisbon's throat as she snuck a glance at the bean bags she kept on the edge of her desk. The ones she obsessively rearranged when her stress levels had hit maximum capacity. The ones she'd like to ram down a certain someone's throat no less than four times a week.

She was giving away her tells to a man whose sole purpose was to exploit weakness, so she marshaled her features into something less revealing, and shook her head. "I'm in perfect control of my life."

Stiles made a face of such sympathy, Lisbon felt like she was ten again, and her grandfather was telling her that the family dog had just gone to that great dog park in the sky.

"Oh, of course you're not, my dear. Who is in perfect control of their lives these days? That's why we work long hours, sacrifice a personal life, and keep liquor stashed away in our desk drawers."

It took a lot for her not to flinch at that. Brushing it aside, Lisbon reminded herself with whom she was speaking. "And what little things do you use maintain control in you life, Mr. Stiles? Or should I say, maintain control over your …parishioners?"

The compassion faltered for a second, and Lisbon literally felt the temperature in the room dip. But it was gone in the time it took Stiles to raise his index finger and slowly waggle it in a 'no-no' motion. "Ah-ah, Agent Lisbon, no reason for hitting below the belt. I'm simply trying to _help_ you. I know why you resist all outside attempts to help you with your problems, you know. Trust is a rare commodity in your life, not to be given out lightly. Too many people, pillars of support, have let you down in one way or another. Probably going back to your parents, am I right?"

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. "So you're a shrink too? Do you charge by the hour or does one have to make a sacrifice to your altar?"

Stiles simply chuckled, but his eyes went a shade colder, roughly the color of glacial ice. "Donations are always appreciated, my dear. Visa and MasterCard accepted." He tilted his head, still smiling, though the bite had lessened. "Do you trust your consultant, Mr. Jane?"

Lisbon looked up at him from beneath her lashes, but didn't answer.

"Good girl," Stiles applauded, in a whiskey-rough voice. "Great employee insurance aside, everything I said about him – the recklessness, the carelessness – it's all true, and you know it. His single minded pursuit of evil will be his undoing. A man that hates himself that much," he shuddered, "well, it really is toxic, even for those closest to him."

Lisbon sat stark still, every truth Stiles uttered clattering about inside her soul. The man was a manipulative cult leader who sent others to do his dirty work for him, who obviously thought himself above authority and sanction. Who didn't have a huge problem with murder.

But he was also absolutely correct.

"I truly fear for your safety with a man like Jane under your supervision, Agent Lisbon." Stiles was all grandfatherly concern again. It was eerie.

"You're not the first person to tell me Jane's a liability, Mr. Stiles-"

"Well, I'm glad of that," he laughed.

"– and you won't be the last. But I'll tell you what I've told everyone else. I can handle Jane."

"Can you, really? Handle him?" Stiles raised an eyebrow, almost seductively. "And would you allow him to exact his revenge on Red John, should the invitation arise?"

She was about to answer immediately, but he cut her off. "No, of course you wouldn't, my dear. That is not how you operate. But it is how Jane operates, I'm afraid."

"You don't know that. I won't _let_ him."

"In my experience, men as obsessed as Mr. Jane can rarely be stopped from reaching their goal. Nature of the beast, I'm afraid. That's why he's working with you, isn't it?"

She faltered before giving her standard answer. "He helps with a lot of cases. Not only Red John related material…he…he catches a lot of bad guys."

Stiles 'mm-ed' to himself. "And you secretly hope that will eventually be enough for him, don't you? That he'll see the difference he can make for society and be satisfied with it, just like you are? Making a difference." Leaned forward and pierced her with his glacial stare. "Oh, Agent Lisbon, I do hope you're right. For your sake."

"Your concern for my well-being is touching, Mr. Stiles, but unwarranted," she replied sternly, hoping to put an end to the conversation without ruffling feathers.

"Well, it seems to me that Mr. Jane could be just biding his time until something more concrete on Red John surfaces. Using the," his eyes traveled over her features, "resources, currying favor and friendships where he can. It's easier to achieve your goals when you have the trust of those who might …well…get in the way, eventually."

Lisbon felt sick. She had to swallow once to tamp down on the bile rising in her throat. Stiles wasn't scaring her with empty theories. She prided herself on being pretty smart, so of course, she'd let the thought that maybe Jane was just using them to suit his own motives swirl around her head late at night.

Stiles raised a brow at her silence. "I see you've entertained such thoughts as well. Good. A good leader considers all possibilities of betrayal that could threaten her team."

"Jane's not…he's not like that." She couldn't even make her voice work.

"He's fairly open about what he wants to do to Red John if he ever catches him, isn't he? And you're not about to let him become a killer."

Lisbon felt herself sinking further into her chair as Stiles leaned forward again, clasping his hands together on his knee and giving her an open, curious expression. "Tell me, my dear, when the game has reached its crux, and the players finally meet, who do you think he'll choose?"

No answer. She couldn't even blink, pinned by Stiles' question.

"Mr. Jane is fond of you, that is obvious. But I do worry for your safety. Especially after what happened here a few months ago, an entire CBI team being slaughtered," Lisbon visibly cringed, shying away from his eye, "I can't help but think being close to Patrick Jane is akin to painting a target on your back."

By now, Lisbon was hunched into her chair, the only visible sign of her retreat from Stiles' words. If the seed of doubt had been planted before now, Stiles had watered it. Or maybe shoveled Miracle Grow onto it.

Stiles sat back, and Lisbon couldn't tell if he was genuinely worried about her, or masking the pleasure of getting to her. She suspected the latter.

His voice was thick with commiseration and infinite concern. "I do hope I haven't added to your burden, Agent. That wasn't my intention. I was merely trying to point out–"

"– That you're a vile, patronizing, manipulative con man? Thanks, but we already knew that."

The subject of their conversation appeared in Lisbon's doorway. He smiled – a subtle thing that came nowhere near his eyes, with more edge in it than congeniality. Hands stuffed into his coat pockets, Jane stood there, staring coolly at Stiles as though he'd just bid the man 'good morning', but Lisbon was shocked to see the fury simmering under his well worn mask.

Realization hit her in the head like a stray foul ball. _Oh no…_

_

* * *

_

Jane had been in high spirits. The case was solved, Hightower played chicken with Bret Stiles and won this round. And Lisbon hadn't received a single reprimand. Life was good.

He'd waltzed his way around the corner from Hightower's office, garnering a few weird looks from passing workers (the young file clerk he'd nearly twirled into blushed furiously, and he considered taking her arm and spinning her a round once, just because she looked like she could use a good dance) and into the break room. After finding his blue teacup and saucer, Jane set about fixing tea.

After such a good job, tea was in order. While stirring, Jane paused a moment, thinking about the case. Then, he released a breath that seemed to start at his toes. The Harrington case had worked out well, but it had taken its toll on him. Stiles had found his vulnerable spots and within minutes had poked them with a sharp stick. Sure, Stiles probably researched his adversaries, like any good opponent would, but still. The way that pretentious cult leader looked down on him while talking about scrubbing out his demons like one would scrub out a nasty grass stain – Jane felt his jaw tighten just thinking about it.

Such arrogance, passing judgment on his pain! It was overwhelming. Of course he'd lashed out, threatening Stiles. It was about all Jane could do. Stiles had thrown the first punch, and it was a doozy. Afterward, Jane had needed time to regroup.

Then there was the bomb.

Jane raised the cup to his lips; remembering Lisbon's frantic call caused is stomach to churn ominously. He set the tea back on the counter and closed his eyes. Lisbon had called asking for his help, and for an instant, he was ridiculously pleased.

His Lisbon, the one who could be paralyzed and wouldn't ask him to bring her a cup of coffee, the one who staunchly told him she didn't need to be saved, was calling for his help. And in that instant, his mind had recklessly hoped it was something non-case related. He'd been trying for months to get her to open up to him a little, and been soundly shot down at every turn. Silly of him to think she'd call him for anything other than solving a crime.

But after he heard her say that she was in the same room as a bomb – Jane's heart had actually stuttered in his chest. He played if off well, of course. She'd been fully capable of leaving. Then, he heard her argue with that little girl, knew she'd die rather than leave the kid behind. There were times when Jane wished his memory palace wasn't so detailed.

For a few heart-stopping seconds, he was forced to listen to Lisbon grapple with a bomb. And now he realized, as his heart froze in his chest, that he was almost forced to listen to her die…and he'd been completely helpless. He couldn't save her.

She was going to die and he'd have to _listen_ to her die.

The blue teacup clattered back to the counter top, sloshing hot liquid all over his hand. Cursing under his breath, Jane mopped up his mess, and refilled his cup. Time to put these dark thoughts out of his head. Lisbon was safe, and he'd made sure that everyone knew about her heroism.

Jane thought about her embarrassed smile, the way Lisbon glowed in the limelight. It replaced the icy fear in his chest remembering the bomb incident with a warmth that brought a smile to his face. He'd have to make sure she got recognized for her deeds more often. She deserved it, and he had to admit, he liked the feeling of helping her, even in that little way, a lot more than he thought he would. And if she trusted him a bit more that he'd have her back…

_More than enough reward_, he thought.

Jane poured Lisbon a cup of coffee, exactly how she liked, and started toward her office. It was then that he noticed she wasn't alone. Stiles, apparently, hadn't skulked back to his den of brainwashed followers yet. But it wasn't Stiles presence in Lisbon's office, lounging in one of her chairs as though he has some regal right to do so, that worried him instantly. It was Lisbon's demeanor.

She looked strained. Almost…frightened. She was crouched back as far as she could in her chair, stone-faced and rigid. Jane stopped in the middle of the hallway, all of his internal warning bells sounding a red alert. He knew Lisbon could take care of herself, but something Stiles was telling her was truly bothering her.

More curious than anything, Jane deposited the two drinks on Van Pelt's desk, which the rookie immediately questioned, but he ignored. He ambled toward the office, watching the two within, not wanting to interrupt. If Lisbon wanted Stiles gone, she'd toss him out by the scruff of the neck if need be.

When he was within ear shot, the conversation he heard poured a bucket of ice down his spine.

"…_In my experience, men as obsessed as Mr. Jane can rarely be stopped from reaching their goal. Nature of the beast, I'm afraid. That's why he's working with you, isn't it?"_

Jane froze.

"_He…he catches a lot of bad guys."_

"_And you secretly hope that will eventually be enough for him, don't you?"_

"_It's easier to achieve your goals when you have the trust of those who might …well…get in the way, eventually."_

His fists in his pockets slowly contracted until his nails were digging into his palms.

"_I see you've entertained such thoughts as well. Good."_

Lisbon didn't answer anything to the contrary, and Jane's heart turned to a lead weight.

"_Tell me, my dear, when the game has reached its crux, and the players finally meet, who do you think he'll choose?"_

His vision began to turn red. Oh, how he wanted to wrap his hands around Stiles throat. But it was Lisbon's non-reaction to those words that made his lead heart fall into the soles of his shoes. Did she really think…that he'd…?

Worst of it was, Jane himself didn't truly know the answer to that.

"_I can't help but think being close to Patrick Jane is akin to painting a target on your back," _the cult leader suggested.

He couldn't take this. He knew his presence at CBI was probably a portent of doom for those around him. Red John had made that glaringly obvious just a few months ago, and Lisbon still couldn't hear Bosco's name without her entire demeanor dimming a little. It made Jane's chest ache to see her wince as Stiles threw the death of her friend back in her face like a wet rag.

But then, Jane also knew the danger Lisbon was in as well. He'd shoved that little fact as far back in his broken soul as he could, but Stiles knew exactly how to bring it to the forefront. And now, after nearly losing her that day, Jane didn't think he could even fathom the possibility of Red John deciding to use Lisbon as his next "example." It was still too raw, the terrifying memory was too close to him.

He needed to help her. Get Stiles away from her. Not a shining knight, valiantly defending the fair maiden's honor by any means, but at the very least, he could redirect Stiles' energy. Lisbon had had enough stress for one day.

So, he stepped in. His face his most perfect mask of calm control, while his fists clenched in his pockets so tightly his knuckles ached.

"I do hope I haven't added to your burden, Agent." Stiles soothed, dripping concern and understanding. "That wasn't my intention. I was merely trying to point out–"

"– That you're a vile, patronizing, manipulative con man? Thanks, but we already knew that." Jane smiled. His focus was on Stiles, but he could see Lisbon's shock out of the corner of his eyes.

She didn't trust him to save her, but he'd be damned if he didn't try.

* * *

"Ah, Mr. Jane," Stiles greeted calmly, and if he were caught off guard, he covered like a pro. "Come to level more threats at me?"

Lisbon frowned. Threats? _Oh, great,_ she thought.

"Agent Hightower wouldn't like that, I should think." Stiles angled himself toward his opponent, still comfortable in the chair.

Jane stepped in the door way, tilting his head at Stiles, and the smile had faded a notch or two. Lisbon felt an indefinable hum radiating throughout the room, as though she were standing near a power line. She'd rarely seen Jane so agitated and it was starting to scare her.

Jane shrugged one shoulder. "No threats, Bret. Just an honest observation or two."

"That's all Agent Lisbon and I were chatting about, my dear fellow. Honest observations." Stiles smiled. The Fox liked the way his new prey squirmed.

Jane moved to the corner of Lisbon's desk, perched atop it and crossed his arms over his chest. Stiles merely leaned back in the chair, enjoying Jane's physical display of possessiveness. Even Lisbon could tell that Jane was trying to get between herself and Stiles. The question was, why?

"Don't you have to get back to your flock? Probably can't leave them for too long without your voice in their ears, telling them what to do. How to think. Who to kill." Jane goaded, disdain coating every syllable.

"And here I thought we'd settled all that," Stiles purred.

Jane chuckled. "You may have the DA bluffed, but we know what you are. And where to find you." He leaned forward, his tone dropping an octave. "Go back to hiding behind your brainwashed lackeys, _Bret_."

The hum in the room increased, and Lisbon eyed Stiles. The older man's expression barely changed, but his eyes hardened. The Fox morphed into a Wolf. "You know, _Patrick_, I would have thought you'd have learned your lesson by now. Threatening people when you don't truly know who you're dealing with?"

Jane's shoulders tensed. Stiles let that blow sink in a moment before continuing. "One wonders what it will take before you realize that your actions have consequences."

Lisbon's eyes moved back toward Jane, who was staring at Stiles in that same loathsome way he did at the Visualize Center. Eyes cold and empty.

She hadn't formulated a reply before Stiles turned back to Jane, moving in for the kill. "My offer still stands, Patrick. All that self-loathing and obsession is only going to cause you more pain. More loss." He turned to her, conspiratorially. "Wouldn't you agree, Agent Lisbon?"

Very slowly, Lisbon folded her hands on her desk, sat forward, and leveled a stony glare at the Visualize Center guru. "I think Jane is right, Mr. Stiles. We know what you're all about, so you can bet we'll have our eye on you. I'm sure we're not the only agency doing so."

Stiles' paternal air toward her vanished and he bestowed on her the same predatory glare he'd been using on Jane. The Wolf bristled, as he straightened his coat. "Oh. Really?" He sneered.

"Yes sir." She nodded. Standing, Lisbon motioned toward the door. "I think you should leave."

Stiles looked between Jane and Lisbon, seeking some crack in which to poke another stick, but found none. Didn't seem to like the fact that all his good advice to Lisbon wasn't to be heeded.

Jane's mask was settled back in its proper place, a false and tired smile on his face. "Have a nice day," he said.

Stile shook his head as he walked to the door. "Always your stalwart defender, Patrick." Waggled a finger between the two of them, and smirked. "I hope it doesn't ruin you both before the end."

The air seemed to rush back into the room as Stiles left, the almost electrical hum vibrating between him and Jane ebbed. Lisbon felt edgy, angry and bone-numbingly tired all at the same time. Running a hand through her hair, she rounded her desk to face Jane.

The wrinkles around his eyes were deep crags, as though his encounter with Stiles aged him ten years. His shoulders sagged a little more, and it seemed to take far too much effort to summon a small smile for her.

"We sure told him, didn't we?" he said.

Lisbon eyed him warily before glancing toward Stiles' exit. "Arrogant bastard." She turned back to him. "Are you…" She started to ask if he was alright, before another rail-car crashed into her train of thought. "What were you trying to do there?"

Jane's shock was evident. His brow furrowed in confusion, a look she rarely saw on her know-it-all consultant. "What do you mean?"

"With Stiles. Why lock horns with him again when you know he'll go for your jugular?"

Jane looked a little dumbstruck, and Lisbon couldn't figure out why. Usually Jane avoided going into fights that would use his most vulnerable insecurities against him. He couldn't get away from Stiles fast enough the last time they went at each other, as soon as Stiles had finished rubbing Jane's face in his pain. Both struck a nerve with the other, Jane just retreated first.

"I…" He paused, and then shook his head, an incredulous look on his face. "I was trying to help you, Lisbon. I saw Stiles in here, and you looked…well…" He fumbled around, and the more he fumbled the more aggravated Lisbon got.

"I looked…what?" she prodded.

"Like you weren't handling him well." Jane stated, innocently. The man didn't have a tactful bone in his body most days.

Lisbon gaped. "Not handling him well? I handle guys like him all day long, Jane." Then it hit her. Oh, he thought he was going to ride in and save her again, did he?

Jane looked at his shoes, scuffing them on the floor a moment. "Look, Stiles is a master manipulator and I just thought…"

"That if he got to you, then I would crumble like a house of cards, right?"

"That's not what I meant, Lisbon, and you know it." Jane said, firmly. "I was just looking out for you."

There was something in his eyes that made her want to forgive him. But she'd had a long, very trying day. She'd come within a second's breath of dying. She'd had to watch Jane threaten some very influential people. And then she'd had a malicious con-man of Jane's caliber poking around in her issues.

Lisbon had lost control of things with Stiles, and it left the bitter taste of violation in her mouth. She needed to regain some control.

"I'm fine." She tried to take some of the sting out of her words. Jane was, after all, only trying to help. "I can look out for myself." Problem was, whenever Jane tried to help, he usually made things worse.

Jane nodded, shuffling toward the door. Even 'he of little tact, and big arrogant assumptions' could see this wasn't going well.

"Of course you can, Lisbon." He gave her a low-watt smile, as though he were too tired to send her one of his stunners. "I'm sorry you had to deal with him at all. My fault. I'll be…on my couch if you need me."

He backed out of her office, more contrite and beaten than she'd seen him in a long time. Worry caused her to fret her bottom lip between her teeth, but the hollow ache of being "read" by such a conniving wolf as Stiles kept her from going after him. Jane usually needed to lick his wounds in private, and Lisbon knew when to give him space. Stiles had delivered a few scathing thrusts to Jane in this round of their verbal sword play, but she'd caught a few herself.

So, she closed her door and drew her blinds, shutting herself off from the world of the office to regroup in her own way: by diving into paperwork. It was well after nightfall before she left, and for once, Jane had actually left before her. This time, he didn't say goodnight.

* * *

Just out of the shower, Lisbon hadn't even had a chance to dry her hair fully before her cell phone rang. It was a voice she didn't know, telling her that some guy in a three piece suit had drank his limit, and was now challenging the other customers to silly little games of chance. He was taking money from some guys who didn't like losing their money.

"How'd you know to call me?" It wasn't like Jane went around with a sign around his neck that said, '_If lost, please return to Teresa Lisbon_.'

The man she assumed was the bar tender laughed. "When I tried to cut him off, your guy flashed his ID and said he was law enforcement. Not that it makes a difference; no one wants a drunk cop running around."

"He's not a cop."

"Didn't think so. I called the office number on his ID card and the operator said you were his, what? Commanding officer or something?"

"Yeah," she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Or something."

She threw on some jeans and a top, barely remembering to grab her badge on the way. She had a feeling she might have to use it to bail Jane out of whatever shit he was about to step in.

O'Malley's wasn't crowded, but it had the requisite regulars for a Thursday night. The smoky haze created an aura around the yellow lamps illuminating the cramped booths. Soft rock emanated from the Wurlitzer in the back corner, and the large oak bar was filled with patrons seated on red leather stools. The whole place smelled of stale smoke and fresh liquor, with a hint of desperation.

It didn't take long for Lisbon to spot Jane, seated at the end of the bar, with two very large, very pissed off looking men flanking him. Jane had a deck of cards in his hand, and a stack of money near his elbow. He'd obviously been working his marks for a while.

Lisbon made her way over to the small group, where she heard Jane expounding on how he deduced what the guy in front of him was going to pick.

"It's simple, really," Jane said, shuffling the cards. "I just deduced what card you were going to pick by memorizing the deck. Then, I lead you to pick the card I wanted using subliminal cues." He shrugged, as though the whole thing was stupidly obvious. "You're threshold for suggestibility is surprisingly low. Probably all the alcohol you've consumed."

"You callin' me a drunk, on top of cheating me out of my money?" The guy was at least 6'3, and built like King Kong. As usual, Jane was blithely unaware of the danger he was in.

Or maybe, he didn't care. As Lisbon got closer, she could see the red blotches in his blue-green eyes. His coat had been shucked off to the side, his rumpled white shirt cuffs rolled up to his elbows. There was something off about the way he moved, not quite fluid or precise. Lisbon had never seen Patrick Jane drunk, but she knew the general look far too well.

He finally saw her, edging her way behind King Kong. "Ah, Lisbon! Guys, this is my lovely little friend, Teresa."

She bristled a little at that introduction. "Jane. You all right?"

He sent her a blinding smile, one that caught the eye of the female inhabitants of the bar, Lisbon noticed. Particularly a big, busty blonde to Jane's right, who hadn't stopped watching him work his magic since Lisbon entered.

"Of course I am, Lisbon," he slurred the 's' but it was so subtle she nearly missed it. "Just hanging out here. With my fellow working stiffs. Having a cold one after a long day, you know."

King Kong turned to Lisbon with a glare. "Your man here has been cheating at cards."

"Not cheating," Jane interjected. "I can't help having a good memory."

"Cheating," Kong repeated. "And he's about to get that pretty face all messed up if he doesn't give us our money back." Kong's buddy beside him nodded ominously. If he'd cracked his knuckles threateningly, it might have been almost comical.

Lisbon put on her game face and held out a placating hand. "Okay guys, take it easy. We've all had a few drinks here," she cut her eyes at Jane, who was downing the last of his scotch, unperturbed. "Why don't we all just call it a night."

Kong loomed over her, "Not without my money, sweetheart."

"She really doesn't like diminutives…" Jane muttered behind her back.

Lisbon glared at the tree trunk with eyes, before reaching across and snatching Jane's pile of money. Over his indignant, "hey!" she said, "Here," thrusting the money at King Kong, and moving between him and Jane.

"He insulted us," the man growled.

"Yeah, well, he insults pretty much everyone he meets. Now get lost, Grape Ape, before I arrest you for drunk and disorderly."

Just as Kong started to physically protest, she flashed her badge.

The two behemoths lumbered away, but not before they told Jane if they ever saw him in that bar again, they'd rearrange his pretty smile.

She turned back to Jane after they left, giving him the "why do I suffer you" look.

"Spoiled sport. Always playing by the rules." Jane sighed, motioning to the bartender for another drink. "When are you going to loosen up a little, woman?"

His tone bothered Lisbon. It wasn't the gentle, playful banter they usually exchanged. There was a bitter edge to it that made her chest tighten. Something was wrong.

She tried to keep some lightness in her reply. "Maybe when you stop being a pain in my ass."

"Then stop coming to my rescue," he stated, glancing at her over his shoulder with a contemptuous look. The same look he gave her when he blamed her for not waiting when they caught Hardy.

Summoning up the Teresa Lisbon who was used to dealing with belligerent drunks, she took a deep breath and put her hand on Jane's shoulder. "C'mon Jane. You've had enough."

A sad, rueful smile pulled at his lips. "Dear 'ol Mother Teresa, patron saint of lost causes." Jane turned to his lovely bar mate, and gestured toward Lisbon. "She's always the one who thinks she has to save everybody and everything. What's really sad about that is she won't let anyone return the favor for her."

Blondie grinned at Jane as though his words were golden, and then gave Lisbon a pitying look.

"I'd offer you a drink, Lisbon, to loosen you up, but…slippery slopes and all that."

Okay. Now he was hitting below the belt. Lisbon felt her anger and hurt well up in her chest, threatening to leak out everywhere, but she forced it down. "Are you finished?" she asked, trying to keep her expressions muted. She knew Jane was watching her, reading her. She wasn't about to allow him any victory in this little stand-off.

"There she goes, right back behind those walls. 'Sokay, I know that's your usual MO when things get too personal."

"Pot, kettle, Jane."

He smirked. "Touché."

Then he grew serious, studying her. "Why did you come here, Lisbon? You don't have a life outside of work, so I know you weren't busy, but still…"

"I came to bring you home, you _idiot_." Exasperation bled through her reply. "I'm trying to help you."

"Funny," Jane mused, his eyes never leaving hers. "I've tried to tell you that a hundred times. Why is it _you_ get to do all the helping?"

Lisbon gathered his coat and slapped a twenty on the bar, hoping it would cover whatever Jane had drunk. "Please Jane, just…just leave the questions for morning, okay? C'mon, let's get you home."

Jane moved off the bar stool, and Lisbon maneuvered her small frame under his arm for support. She wasn't sure if he was really that drunk or just being dramatic, but when he leaned heavily on her, the smell of scotch mixed with his cologne made her head swim a little.

He leaned in close to her ear, his voice rough from fatigue and liquor. "You wanna take me home, _Teresa_?" Her name slipped of his tongue like molasses. But when she looked at his face, Lisbon saw a hint of something she wasn't ready for.

Under the alcohol and the frustration, there was a _need_ coloring the blue-green of his eyes a darker hue. It stunned her for a moment.

Jane turned and bid the bar a cheerful goodbye. To the hopeful blonde, he gave a rueful look, and Lisbon noticed the younger woman's face fall in disappointment.

Outside, Jane turned his attention back to the woman encapsulated under his arm. "I think I like the idea of you taking me home, Teresa. Might be fun."

She shuddered when he actually nuzzled her hair with is nose. "Uh… Jane?"

"Mm?"

"What're you doing?"

He raised his brows innocently. "What? You smell lovely. I've been stuck in a bar with the smell of stale cigarettes, booze and people of questionable bodily hygiene all night. I want to smell something a little sweeter." His hand lifted off her other shoulder and toyed with a strand of her hair. "Didn't even have time to dry your hair before that bartender called you. Sorry."

"It's okay," Lisbon mumbled. Jane's hand was threading through her hair in the most distressingly wonderful way. She batted it away as they continued down the street. She had to park a block or so away. Which meant she'd have to endure Jane draped over her for a while longer. Damn it.

She cleared her throat. "So, uh…where can I take you?"

Jane slowed their pace. "You mean I don't get to go home with you? Well that's a hellova way to get a guy's hopes up." She couldn't help but smirk at his fake disappointment.

"Seriously. Where?"

"I don't know. I suppose the office." When she stopped Jane faced her.

"The office?" she asked. Surely he had somewhere else to stay.

"I have no where else to go, Lisbon." Jane's face was somber, but he eyes were what broke her heart. "Malibu is too far a drive for tonight."

"Maybe you can sleep it off on my couch."

Jane's answering grin wasn't the normal, playful charming grin. This one had a bit of a leer to it. "Wonderful. I've been wanting to get back to your place for a while."

Lisbon decided to leave that statement alone. Besides, she had other things on her mind, like Jane's body pressed against her side again. He looped his arm over her shoulder again, almost trying to curl her body into his. His hand drew lazy circles along her shoulder and down the top of her arm. It was starting to be very distracting.

"Today was a very unsettling day, wasn't it?" he asked, as they started into an alley that lead to the parking lot. "Bombs, cult leaders." He looked down at her, and there was pain showing around the creases in the corner of his eyes. "You could have died."

Lisbon smiled. "But I didn't. Thanks to you and your ridiculous knowledge of fake paintings."

She'd meant it as a joke, but Jane didn't crack a smile. "I didn't help you. I couldn't. If that bomb had gone off, I wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing but sit there and listen to you get blown up over the phone."

"Hey," Lisbon paused, meeting his eyes. "You helped me find the bomb in time. It wasn't your fault that little girl was still there."

"Maybe," Jane nodded.

"You help me out plenty on cases, Jane."

At that, she felt Jane tense. Then she felt his breath, hot against her ear. "I wish you'd let me help you more. And not just on cases."

Lisbon's breath caught in her throat. The alley was dark, only a feeble street lamp putting out a dim circle of light near the end. Jane had been swaying slightly on his feet, but suddenly, Lisbon felt over-balanced. She teetered under his weight, and they collided with the alley wall.

"Wha – What are you-"

Jane pressed his body flush against her front, his arms on either side of her against the wall. "Why do you have to ask so many questions, woman?"

Lisbon froze. Her breathing hitched as her heart rate skyrocketed. Jane rested his forehead against hers, breathing in he scent. She couldn't make out his eyes in the darkness, only the dim profile of his face lit from the pathetic street light. Her hands went against his chest, but she didn't push him away.

His breath, thick with malt scotch, wafted across her face as he leaned in.

"Jane. Don't do this."

"Do what?" His voice vibrated against her ribcage. Carefully, Jane dropped his face to her shoulder, his nose nestled in the corner between her shoulder and neck. "Don't tell me that this little…scenario…hasn't crossed your mind once or twice."

Her body shuddered at his breath against her neck. "No…"

"Liar." It was more of a growl than a statement.

The moment his lips touched her skin, Lisbon nearly jumped out of her skin. Jane was fully pressed against her, keeping her still with his weight. His lips caressed her neck, lightly, almost like he wasn't sure about what he was doing. Lisbon's gasped when he hit a sweet spot, near her collar bone, her hands fisting involuntarily in his shirt.

Jane 'mm-ed' against her neck. "Just where I thought your spot would be." Then he flicked his tongue out over that sensitive spot, and Lisbon let her eyes close and her back arch slightly under him.

"Ahh…this really…isn't," Her brain wasn't completing sentences at the moment.

Jane hissed against her when her hips ground against his. "_Hush_, woman."

She felt the evidence of his arousal against her thigh, reminding Lisbon that Patrick Jane was, in fact, a man with needs. He did such an amazing job of convincing everyone that he was nothing more than a robot programmed for revenge. But now, against her body, hot and urgent with desire, Jane was achingly human. And so was she.

He started making his way up the column of her neck, suckling in the spots that made her body hum and her breathing stutter.

Oh God, it felt so good to feel a man's hands on her body, roving down her sides, up under her breasts. Without thinking, she tangled her hands in his hair, and nuzzled his neck. Jane practically purred when her mouth hovered over his neck, her lips ghosting over the flesh. He was near the bottom of her ear when Lisbon, devoid of rational thought at this point, grazed his collar bone with her teeth.

The reaction was immediate. A groan rumbled deep in his chest as he pushed his knee between her legs. His stubble scratched her delicate skin as he continued to ravage her chest and neck. Hands began to fumble with buttons, and Lisbon found herself wondering where they could go. Quickly. Somewhere close.

_Oh_, Jane's hand was cupping her breast, his thumb rubbing over her nipple. She bucked under his touch, thrusting her hips into his. Then, Patrick Jane forgot all about her neck and rose to meet her eyes. Her eyes were veiled with the haze of wanting him so suddenly and so urgently, but she didn't need to see his face to know the feeling was mutual.

Jane was panting now, pressing his forehead against hers again. Cupping her face with his hands, pausing for one terrifying moment, Jane plunged against her lips with is own.

All his desperate longing, the guilt and sorrow, every emotion she'd ever seen on Jane's handsome face he poured into that kiss. And Lisbon felt like time had stopped. There were no cases, no bad guys to be caught and no victims to comfort. No more ugly people ding ugly things to each other. There was just her and Jane. Right here. Right now.

She felt his tongue slide across hers, plunging in deeply with a passion she'd never thought possible from her arrogant consultant. He was above such mortal needs, it seemed. Jane pulled her against him, as though he were afraid she'd disappear if he didn't hang on.

All Lisbon wanted was to ride this high as long as possible. She wanted him all over her, inside her, in as many ways as possible. She'd denied herself these pleasures for too long, living for the job alone.

Well, maybe right here in the alley was easier. She didn't think she could wait through the car ride. The closest place was the office...

…_The office. _

Somewhere nearby, a car alarm blared to life. Reality was an ugly, obnoxious sound.

The world crashed back in on Lisbon like a tidal wave of ice water. This was wrong. So very, very _wrong_. She and Jane had to work together. Face each other every day. Alcohol and loneliness didn't make good bedfellows.

Reluctantly, she broke the kiss.

"Jane," she tried again. She tried leaning her head away from him, but his hand came to rest on the side of her jaw, keeping her in place. "Jane, this is wrong. We can't do this."

Something between a whine and a moan erupted from Jane. He held her face in his hands. "Don't ruin this by over-thinking, Lisbon. We both obviously want this."

"We also have to live with each other the next day, Jane." Lisbon gasped his wrists. "You're drunk and lonely and –"

"And so what? Neither one of us is ever going to get the 'normal' answer to this problem," Jane surmised. "People like us don't get normal, Lisbon."

Despite the bitterness in his words, Jane's thumb gingerly traced back and forth against her cheek. He was pleading with her to help him stem the loneliness and the emptiness that plagued them both. And part of her was more than willing to accommodate him. His lovely face was riddled with desperation and fear. The self-imposed isolation from the human world was starting to take its toll on the once consummate conman.

Lisbon realized that maybe deep down, Jane wanted to break the stagnation of his life. Maybe his heart wasn't a cold little thing, locked away in an iron box of hatred and guilt. Or maybe he was just looking for a temporary fix. And perhaps, so did she. Either way, giving in would forever change their dynamic. And Lisbon wasn't ready for that kind of change.

She put her hands angst his chest, and Jane gave her some space. "I'm sorry, Jane. But I want 'normal' someday."

"Incurable optimist," Jane gave her a half-smile, one hand still cupping her cheek.

"Maybe I secretly believe in happy endings?"

Jane sighed, "Well at least one of us will. That's good, I suppose."

For a moment, they just stood there, staring into each others eyes. Perhaps looking into each others souls, cataloging the wounds and hoping that someday, they could fix each other.

Jane seemed to come back to himself first, stepping back and clearing his throat awkwardly. He readjusted his clothing, and after a moment, decided it might be best if he carried his coat in front of him. Obviously, certain areas hadn't gotten the message that the foreplay had been canceled for the night.

Lisbon hid her smirk, brushing her hair out of her face, while Jane paced away from her for a moment, trying to collect himself. A few deep breaths later and he turned back to her. Now his eyes darted from his shoes to Lisbon and back down.

"Listen, uh," he started, "Why don't I just, y'know, call a cab."

"I'll take you where ever you want to go, Jane."

A smile, small, but the first real one of the night. "Thank you, Lisbon. But I think it might be best if we just…went our separate ways for the night." When Lisbon looked at him oddly, he clarified rather awkwardly. "You know, just to …I mean, maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea for us to be in, uh, close quarters…right now."

It was an odd sight to see words fail the great Patrick Jane. He floundered for a second before he readjusted his coat in front of himself.

Want flashed across his shrouded features again and Lisbon nodded jerkily. "Oh. Yeah. Gotchya."

"Yeah." He seemed to be debating something in his head, before he ambled toward her. "Uh, Lisbon? Listen…I'm-"

"No, there's no need. We're good."

"But –"

Lisbon waved him off. "Really, Jane. We're fine." It was the drinks. That's all. A moment of weakness. For both of them.

Jane looked like he was about to argue, but finally nodded. "Are you sure?"

"Now who's questioning everything?"

"Right." Jane shuffled closer, looking more like his old self again. The fog of booze must have been clearing. "Well, I'll just call a cab."

"Where are you going to go?" She couldn't help but worry for him. If he wouldn't let her take him somewhere to sleep it off, then she wanted to know where she could find him. If he'd be safe.

The alley nearly lit up with Jane's answering smile, all 1000 watts of it. "Don't worry, Lisbon. I'm just going to head back to the office. My couch is starting to sound very comfortable right about now."

She answered his grin with one of her own, and was about to move away when Jane's hand snuck out and snatched hers.

"You shouldn't believe him, you know." he murmured, eyes uncertain and searching hers.

Lisbon's brow furrowed. "Who? Stiles?"

Jane nodded minutely. "I…I don't know what will happen in the future." He was deliberately keeping Red John's name out of this, Lisbon noted. "But I need you to believe that I would never hurt you intentionally, Lisbon. _Please_ believe that."

Lisbon watched him for a moment, reading his honest, unmasked emotions. He wasn't promising her anything about Red John, and she understood that. A lot of what Bret Stiles had said was true, and she still wasn't a hundred percent sure she trusted Jane not to do something dangerous and drag her along with him. The cult leader had drug all their dirty laundry out into the middle of the room and forced them to take a good look at it. But they'd crossed a line tonight, one that they couldn't escape from no matter how many walls either of them put up.

Jane cared about her, maybe more than she'd realized before. And he was trying. That counted for something.

"I believe you, Jane," she said finally, and watched the tension evaporate from his presence with the breath he let out.

Before she could think, Jane gently pulled her a step closer, leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek.

For a moment after he stood up, Lisbon saw the hunger pass over his eyes. But he recovered in a flash, a genuine smile of gratitude crinkling the wrinkles around his eyes.

"Thanks Lisbon. For coming to find me."

She could only nod in answer. Jane squeezed her hand once, before he turned and walked away, his cell phone already out, dialing the cab company. Lisbon shoved her hands in her pockets and walked back to her SUV. Once behind the wheel she paused, her hand reaching up to touch the place where Jane had kissed her. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly.

Jane liked to think of himself as a lost cause, but Lisbon knew she'd always find him when he needed her.

Maybe someday, she could count on him to come find her too.

**END **

Next, "Anger". Shouldn't be hard when you work with someone like Jane…*grin*


End file.
